


Chosen One

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Broken Crown [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Asexual Mycroft, Blow Jobs, Branding, Demisexual Sherlock, M/M, Object Penetration, Ownership, Problematic societies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 55,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wasn't sure how he felt about that, because he and Seb had pretty much rampaged through the Companion training together, managing a timetable that had become legendary. They were the examples pointed out to others when they whined about their own workload. 'Could be worse, you could be one of the Holmes' Companions.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was Mycroft Holmes’ seventh choosing. Every year, he’d simply disdained to participate, attending and reading a book in the corner, drinking whatever was on offer, a snack here or there, and then leaving at the end. 

It had been a source of arguments for their parents, endless annoying arguments insisting that Sherlock was *not* going to bring similar shame to the family, and that they were going to *choose* that year. There was an implied ‘or else’, though he didn’t feel there was much weight behind the comments. What weight could there be? He was going to head to his service soon; Mycroft had already completed his.

Mycroft of course had done his Benefactor service as Government work - highly placed government work as the Benefactor assessments had determined his abilities to be exceptional. Sherlock was sure of course that his equaled or surpassed that of his brother - although if he had to be locked up in a stuffy office all day he might just go mad. No, he was sure he’d go mad, and then whoever he picked would have to deal with a mad drooling lump of a benefactor.

“You do need to make a selection,” Mycroft observed from where he sat across from Sherlock on the train. He was slouched in the chair, hands folded over his stomach in lazy comfort.

"And so do you otherwise mother will be most displeased," Sherlock said and they both knew they had gained their superior intelligence from her - and she had the advantage of Companion training. "I am not the one who has created a scandal in the benefactor community so father cannot show his face in the club."

“Pish on the club,” Mycroft sighed. “Who really believes they’re going to find their soul mate this way? It’s preposterous.”

"Well it doesn't have to be a soul mate does it?" Sherlock said, privately incredibly doubtful that such a thing could exist. "However, a decent valet or housekeeper, or someone who can support our own independent interests...yes, I can see that. Someone sturdy, strong and intelligent. That's good enough for me. I'll have them trained and then they can take care of the dull things."

Functional. If he was going to be *saddled* with someone, then they were going to be useful in his life. They were not going to be an undue burden. Mycroft made a thoughtful noise, looking out the window. “I believe I’ve finally made an appropriate selection. You remember that business with the Morans?”

"Which business?" Sherlock asked, running through the various family scandals he recalled.

“Lord Moran’s companion supposedly cheated on him while he was away on duty. The legal dispute has been impressive, but the boy’s finally up for choosing.” There had to be more to it than that for his brother to show an interest, and Mycroft was smiling slowly at him as he said it, waiting for Sherlock to catch onto the game.

"Oh I see," Sherlock mused, his thoughts shooting off down different tangents as he steepled his fingers. "Not only is he of good stock, but should something happen to the heir you will be in an interesting position."

“There’s also the sister in line, but yes. It at least presents itself as interesting.” Mycroft placed a heel carefully against the floor, and pushed himself sitting more upright. “I’m sure he’s legitimate. I find that amusing. Did you look through the offer list?”

"Yes. There are some that show an interesting level of intelligence." That was his pre-requisite. If this Companion was going to be in his space he or she had to be interesting. "It's ludicrous we have to travel so far for the choosing. Use your Government influence to alter the system, it's ridiculous."

"Why waste it on something so trivial? Regardless, we're almost there. Don't make a horrible fuss," Mycroft advised. "And remember, they're children. They're all stupid at this age."

"I wasn't. I can't speak for you," Sherlock sniped, staring out of the window. "The sooner I can find a likely candidate the better. At least we will be first in the queue."

"In the delighted knowledge that we may never come back again." The edge of his mouth twitched a little. "Get in front of me in line."

"With pleasure. I will not take 7 years to come to a decision...I know you're slow sometimes Mycroft but really..." Sherlock needled, leaning slowly towards him.

"You want a butler. I'm looking for something slightly more useful. God knows, I'm not looking for mother there." Mycroft's expression twisted towards displeasure. The wheels of the train made noise as it started to come to a stop. Finally.

Mycroft had a point though. Perhaps they could be something more useful first then be a valet. He would have to think about it. His life goals might require a different set of skills. Something he had little interest in as such but would supplement his own skills. "Finally," he said smoothing down his suit. He and Mycroft might bicker like hell in private but in public, among other Benefactors the Holmes boys were unassailable.

They had to be.

They were quiet, too, if stony with silence while the charade carried on. There was filing off of the train, and speeches, yes, endless speeches to stir the hearts of weak men who bought into the story, the myth. Their mother was a genius, and their father was distant and bored and it wasn't a match made in heaven, nor even purgatory.

They had grown up with the reality of a social convention and it wasn't the romantic ideal that the media loved to exploit. No, tolerable, or compatible would be sufficient in a chosen Companion. Sherlock glanced at his list. He had starred several likely candidates, and wanted to practice his skills of observation on them. Mycroft obviously had his already picked out sight unseen.

Mycroft had noted down a good genetic line and had likely been waiting and waiting for that or another well documented option to come up, which reminded Sherlock slightly of someone looking for a well-lineaged dog rather than a functional working mutt, but it was his brother's selection and not Sherlock's.

So Sherlock started to wander through the over-eager children, letting his eyes alight on and then discard, turning potentials into non-options without having to degrade himself by speaking with them.

It was narrowing the field dramatically and that was somewhat disheartening. Eventually, he was down to his last few options and he wasn't holding out hope. Then he found one of his maybe's lurking in a corner, watching everyone, taking everything in. John apparently, a small, short boy who looked younger than his apparent age. Stocky, sandy haired, watchful eyes. Fingers showing abrasions as if he had been clambering somewhere he shouldn't have been.

Curious, and apparently undeterred by the abrasions. Watchful eyes was good as well. The lurking was a mark in his favour as well, as far as Sherlock was concerned, so he moved in a little closer, almost startling when the boy turned his head and looked at him.

"Hello," the boy said looking at him blinking only a little. There was no attempt to ingratiate himself, it was very much an attitude of take it or leave it. "I'm meant to introduce myself. I'm John."

"Hello, John. I'm Sherlock." He folded his arms over his chest, still peering at the non-plussed boy.

"Sherlock." He tilted his head a little bit. "Sherlock Holmes. They said you wouldn't want me. My marks were not good enough."

Interesting. Did they give the kids coaching on who to approach and who not to waste everyone's time with, as well? Sherlock crouched down to get on a level with the short, but articulate child. "What are your marks, again?"

John looked at him. "Why are you asking me? You have it on the screen things. My maths was only at 87%, so they said people looking for clever Companions would not want me."

"I wanted to see if you thought lying was worthwhile," Sherlock drawled. "Why are your maths only at 87?"

"Because it's boring," John replied with a shrug. "It's not interesting when it is just numbers. I prefer science and things."

"Go on." Boring was useful. He'd marked John a maybe because he seemed to have the hallmarks of an under challenged child, and Sherlock was more than pleased to challenge his companion until he or she cried out in protest. And then a little more. "What kinds of science and things."

"I like chemistry and biology particularly," he said. There was fidgeting, nervous fidgeting. "I'd like to be a doctor or a surgeon because they know lots of things about the body and stuff."

Well that was an interesting ambition. He had no particular ambition to be a doctor himself, and they were always useful.

John looked worried for a moment. "I wasn't meant to say what I wanted to do."

"On the contrary, I'm very interested in what you want to do. People are usually better at what they want to do than they are at what other people want to do. For instance, my brother -- do you see the tall man over there? He doesn't want a companion at all. He's finally going to give up and get one this year. Do you know why?" 

"Because he has to?" John answered looking over at Mycroft. "Is he going to take Seb? Seb is really smart."

“I’m sure he is. And of good breeding stock,” Sherlock sneered, looking away from his brother. “You never *have* to do anything. But no, my brother doesn’t want a companion. He’s got other things in mind. I was thinking the same. It’s boring to bring home someone exactly like yourself, isn’t it? And you want to be a doctor. I’ll admit, that’s never really intrigued me, but it would certainly be complimentary to my interests.”

John was watching him. "What do you do then?" he asked and then winced. "Sorry, not meant to ask that either. "

"You're just blowing through that not meant to ask list, aren't you?" Sherlock smirked, looking back at the boy. "I deduce things. I solve things. Like a policeman, only much much better."

"Already?" John asked doing the slight head tilt again. "How do you do it? How is what you do much better than a policeman?"

"By paying attention to the world around me." Sherlock reached to take John's hand. "You, for instance, enjoy climbing and getting into scrapes, which is probably frowned on here because you're all supposed to be pretty little children kept under glass for Presentation. I can tell because you already have a few callused spots on your palms. See, here?" He pressed one, beneath the scrapes. "You were, in fact, up in the theatre rigging of this place before they let anyone in here, and you've gotten a good yelling at for it already."

John's eyes widened and he gave his first beaming real smile. "That's brilliant!" he said looking up at him. "Tell me some more!"

Of course he'd be easily impressed -- he was just a child, but still. "You had a partner in crime, and both of you were made to change your tuxedos, but the woman wasn't paying enough attention when she shoved the clothes at you, was she?" He pointed at John's too-long pant legs. "Which tells me that your fellow climber is...." He made a show of scanning the place, and then pointed out to the child that his brother was walking over towards them with. "Him. This is terribly basic, you understand."  
"But it's really clever. I've never heard of even people on TV doing that," John said. He smiled a bit more and leaned in and whispered. "And yeah, it was Seb as well. We were is so much trouble. I was told to sit in a corner because no one would want me after behaving like that."

"Well, certainly not someone who's just interested in having you around as a piece of house-candy when you've grown up." Sherlock shook his head, watching John. "Which you wouldn't be able to do if you become a doctor."

"Really a doctor? Like...a surgeon and actually able to do thing?" John asked hopefully. "Seb 'n'I don't want to sit at home doing nothing all the time."

"I don't believe that would be a viable option," Mycroft murmured, holding Seb's hand as if it were perfectly normal for him when Sherlock knew it was no such thing. It was a shame his brother was so much better at faking his humanity. "Hello, Sherlock. I see you've made your choice?" He turned a little, hailing down an assistant. 

Apparently he had, although it had been an entirely less cerebral activity than he had first thought.  
"Have you?" John asked his eyes lighting up, and face filled with excitement. Sherlock didn't miss the glance over at the other blond haired boy, older than most others there.

Almost entirely too old, but there had been the legal battle, which had made the exception to the rule, Sherlock supposed. "Yes. I think you'll grow up to be something more than completely boring and ordinary."

John grinned with unexpected sharpness. "I've been Chosen!" he declared and rather unexpectedly almost lunged and clung onto Sherlock's arms. "Will I get to see Seb when we go home. If he is your brothers Companion?"

Mycroft smiled, and said almost cordially, "Certainly. Here, Sherlock, the paperwork for you to fill out.. " It was just hard to stand up with John clinging to him.

It was strange and normally would be completely unwelcome but Sherlock was a little surprised at how tolerable the experience was. Obviously he wanted his Companion to be schooled well so he rapidly ticked the maximum of foundation education. No doubt Mycroft had done so too.

"I'm going to get classes on taking cars apart," Mycroft's choice told John as soon as Sherlock un-pried him. "And. All sorts of awesome stuff."

"I'm going to be a doctor!" John announced happily. "And Sherlock is brilliant, he can tell things just by looking!"

"No, that's impossible." He wanted to roll his eyes at the uh-huh, nuh-uh argument that followed.

He didn't remember doing that with Mycroft, though his brother did tend to bring out childish urges in him.

"Have you finished the paper work?" Mycroft asked. "Interesting choice."

"I could say the same of yours. What're you choosing for yourself, a mechanic?" He half sneered it, looking over at the two boys, who rather quickly went down in a scuffle. It didn't look particularly harmful.

It was quite amusing to watch his John tackling someone significantly larger than himself. 

"Hardly," Mycroft said. "Sebastian has a very high intelligence quotient as well as practical aptitude scores. I intend to make full use of them."

"I'm sure you will." He handed over the paperwork, and for a moment, he and Mycroft watched as the two boys struggled, and the older one finally disentangled himself, tuxedo ripped at the sleeve as he got upright.

At least neither of them looked particularly offended.

"Sebastian, you are now signed over as officially my Companion. I expect you to stretch your limits for me," Mycroft instructed him, showing a hint of amusement.

John got up looking thoroughly mussed and most definitely not well groomed and perfect.

"Yes, sir." Sebastian pushed his hair back with one hand, looking sideways at John. No, neither of them were making a very companionly showing of it, but Sherlock didn't particularly care.

It seemed like the best choice of all. "And at least win a few fights," Sherlock half encouraged, reaching out to straighten John up a little. "And you're not to slack off in your studies. Being a companion and having *any* real career is very hard."

“I know, I'll be the best!" John declared. "I'll work really hard for you Benefactor Sherlock." It seemed he was belatedly trying his manners, although they didn't ring as sincere as they should have done.

That was more interesting than it would have been if he'd been brightly over polite from the start. Sebastian straightened his tux sleeve, and then broke down into jagged giggles and shoved John's shoulder lightly.

Mycroft smirked.

"Sherlock will do, John."

"Thank you for Choosing me ...Sherlock," John said with the air of getting away with something very naughty.

It made Sherlock smile. "Quite right. So there, that's the last we need to dwell on that awkward arrangement. There was something about tea...?"

"We can make you tea," John declared glancing at Seb. "Or coffee if you prefer. But tea is better."

"Tea." He might as well impose himself on John, even as Sebastian nodded as well, feigned helpfulness. "And then I'll be back to take you home in... well. Quite a while."

"How long?" John asked hopefully.

"That will depend on how well you do with your schooling and work," Mycroft said. "Think of that as an incentive."

"When you're twenty one. That's 15 years from now," Sherlock warned. "After all, being a surgeon takes a lot of work. And practice."

"That's a very long time," John said sounding a bit disheartened. "I'll have to do it quicker."

"I bet I can do it even quicker," Seb offered, pulling away to get the tea. "You'll see..."

"Tea, boys," Mycroft bade, before leaning in to Sherlock. "I've instructed him to watch out for yours. I suppose that's one way to do it."

"I believe John already knows how to do that," Sherlock replied as the two boys started to very efficiently make the tea together. "It is fortunate that we both appear to have chosen two who get on well together." Although he was trying to equate the very physical active nature of Sebastian with his brother.

Clearly, clearly Mycroft was looking for a bodyguard, perhaps. Or an agent. "That's excellent. Perhaps we could get them to pass messages for us."

"An interesting thought," Sherlock agreed. He was intending to travel and actually do things. His Benefactor service was not going to be ten minutes down the road from where they lived. That was madness, and a waste of opportunity. The fact that Mycroft had not only served there but stayed on afterwards, and seldom left the country, was a sign. His brother was the ultimate homebody.

"I could tell you where you're headed."

"I won't be headed anywhere for a while," Sherlock said. "You may think you know where I'm headed but they won't make me go until I'm of age."

"You'll finish your schooling, of course. The military believes you'll make an excellent spymaster." Mycroft had his hands folded behind his back, watching their newly chosen companions as they came back.

A spymaster. Sherlock contemplated a moment. "Not the sort who works from behind a desk," he said finally. The idea was intriguing, information flowing backwards and forwards, instantly accessible.

"No, you'd be ill suited for that. Still, military intelligence, Sherlock. Bit of an oxymoron," he smiled just before the boys came back. With four cups of tea. 

"Then I can only be a significant improvement." Sherlock smiled. Yes, that could be interesting, actually potentially challenging. They would want him to expand his knowledge, learn languages before he started the service. 

"We have your tea," John announced passing it over steadily.

Lots of learning, there was always room to learn and apply more as long as it was important. The tea was passable, and John was watching him as he held his own cup in two hands. Just watching, not talking, which was nice. He could do with a bit of silence when he wanted it as well.

He didn't want an attention seeking Companion, he wanted one that would fit in around what he wanted to do and be the person he wanted them to be. That was surely not too much to ask for five years service of his sheer brilliance to the nation.

* * *

"So that's it then?" John said as he sat in his room clutching his own envelope. "You're finally Going Home?"

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, because he and Seb had pretty much rampaged through the Companion training together, managing a timetable that had become legendary. They were the examples pointed out to others when they whined about their own workload. 'Could be worse, you could be one of the Holmes' Companions.'

And he wasn't done yet. He still had residency to go to -- it meant moving to a smaller, one companion room on the other side of the facility, so he could come and go without rousing the curiosity of students who might imply untoward things about a companion who left the compound on an internship. 

The only reason Seb's timetable had stopped was because he was Going Home. He sat on the edge of his bed, looking... not quite happy, if John was honest. "Yeah. Well, I had to someday, didn't I?"

"Yeah but..." John looked at his own instructions and the excitement of actually being out there treating patients faded a little. "I.. I'm going to miss you," he said finally. He'd had some sort of fantasy that the two of them would Go Home at the same time, maybe even go to their Presentation together. Then that because their Benefactors were brothers they would see each other a lot.

That it might actually be a little like being normal sorts, and not Companions. He'd just forgotten that there were things he still needed to accomplish, timetable of death or not, and that it wasn't as if Seb would be going home *late* to keep him company a mere couple of hours a day.

Still, it would've been nice.

Seb set his letter aside, and nodded, half to himself. "I'll miss you, too. Who's going to keep you caffeinated, huh?"

"If my results drop off, I'll know you were spiking the coffee all along," John warned. "But hey... sex right? At least you finally get to do that."

Seb laughed, the edge of his mouth quirking up a little. "Right, sex. I'll let you know how it is. I'll write a lot, with *lurid* descriptions..."

"Yeah, thanks for that," John said with a grin. "Considering I'm the one who ended up with the reputation from your contraband magazine."

“Lurid," Seb promised, shifting to stretch out on his bed. "God, being able to masturbate without wondering if the bloody cameras are going to catch me. And *sex*." Yeah.

Except he'd never gotten a single waxing lyrical letter, and neither had Seb, and a lot of the other companions got them very regularly. John was just hoping Sherlock was saving it all up for the practical. "Yeah," he said. "When is Mycroft coming for you?" he asked in a quieter voice.

And he still had two years before he could even find out. They'd both been told that many benefactors were uncomfortable writing things like that, and that it was perfectly normal, so. Right, it was normal. "Tomorrow. I'm not sure why he bothered sending a letter. I'm going to spend all night packing."

"And I've got to be packed ready to move over to the residents block tomorrow as well," John said. Things weren't going to be the same but he just wanted to hold on to Seb a little longer. "I'm going to miss this place. They could never figure out how we managed to get into so much trouble and still turn in top marks."

As if Sherlock would stand for less.

"Balance." Seb stood up, whipping his letter to the other side of the room. He never really kept them, didn't file them away meticulously like most companions did. "I'm apparently going to be an agent or something like when I get home."

"What, like an actual MI5 spy or something?" John asked. That was interesting, and one up for Seb in the coolest profession.

"I'm not at liberty to say," Seb smirked, brushing past him to nick a box from John's side of the room. "Do you want me to run downstairs and get more boxes?"

"Smart arse," John replied. "Yeah, that would be good. Seb the super spy." John smiled a little at that.

Seb grinned as he set the box on top of his bed. "Right. I'll be right back, and then we'll pack up together. See, that worked out all right. I'm not leaving you to a big boring room by yourself."

There was a certain symmetry to it even though he was younger than Seb. Seb had always been there, always been the other half of what he had been doing here and nothing should be the same without him there. They had gone through intense emotions together, troubles and stress. He took comfort in te memory of the day they had tried to work out what branding would feel like and had left a tiny, barely visible burn on each other. Their own sort of brand - completely forbidden but hidden away.

Just, getting their head around what it would feel like. They were being prepared to go home to two brothers, after all, and they were both emotionally distant. John was sort of all right with Sherlock being brilliant, sharp in short stories about his work, a few cases. Every once in a while, he asked John what he thought of a case or two. A clue. He usually gave John answers, gloating when he was right or wrong. It felt familiar, comfortable via letters.

He didn't quite know what Seb was dealing with in his letters, because he didn't share too much of their content, but he laughed at John's. 

And now he wasn't going to have anyone to share the troubles and stress with.

He wondered what he could do, something, anything to tell Seb how important he was to him. Had been. Sherlock was going to be his life soon enough but he wasn't the type to walk away from a debt that long in the making.

Eleven long years, gone in a day. That... that sucked. 

And Seb was back, knocking the door open with his hip as he dragged a pile of flattened boxes into the room behind him. "Books first, right?"

"Yeah," John picked up a box and went to his bookshelf. He had a lot of text books as did Seb and the shelves were packed with them. Sherlock didn't stint on information. But there was something very depressing about an empty bookshelf.

It was a slow process, and Seb leaned over him, helping him clean his half of the room out first. It ended up being a bit of a competition, though neither of them declared it as such. John just caught himself watching to see if he could fill up his box with books before Seb did.

Then it was clothes, not that many of them, and the few oddments that they were allowed to have. In some ways it didn't take that long to pack up a life of study and little else. It did become a ridiculous race by the end of it, between the two of them.

He was sweating and breathing a little hard, and their entire lives had been stuffed away into boxes mostly dominated by books. Seb laughed, quiet and wolfish as he leaned against his own stacked up book boxes. "Hah, and the headmistress said it'd take us hours."

"We've always been beating the odds," John said. He glanced outside where it was dark and moonlit. "Wanna go outside and visit sites of our greatest triumphs and disasters?"

"It's better than looking for a corner to smoke in." Seb wiped a hand over his forehead. "I'm going to miss you, you know."

"Yeah," John said looking at Seb. He had photos of them together and he was definitely keeping them. "Shit, come on." He knew what he wanted to give him even if he got in a shit load of trouble if they found out.

They were generally in a shitload of trouble. It helped that their benefactors seemed to think shitload of trouble was what they were paying for, and that being shitloads of trouble would be infinitely helpful to them in their benefactors lives. Seb quirked an eyebrow, but pushed himself away from the boxes. "Lead on."

They skittered down the stairs at speed, and got an indulgent grin from the graduate on the door. No one was going to dob them in tonight. When they were outside John said, "What's a good spot out of sight of the cameras?"

"Up the big oak." Seb knew every camera line of sight in the place, and knew it well. He was probably going to make a fantastic spy, but spies and doctors never really crossed lines very often.

"I want to give you a proper going away send off," John murmured and smiled. He could manage that without breaking his Companion oaths. Penetration was the absolute taboo but a blowjob... they'd done that in practicum."

Sort of. Around about at least.

The way Seb's eyes moved as they headed across the compound carried the full weight of his reaction to that idea. "Shame I can't come back in two years and do the same for you."

John shrugged a little. "C'mon, race you." He was fast over short distances and he took off at a run towards the tree.

Seb always won over the longer distances, so the key to winning was making sure it was just short enough that Seb couldn't do that creepy thing where he kept running and running and running and running, doggedly catching up. He got a good foot up the base on the backside when Seb caught up, laughing.

"Boost me," he said reaching to jump for the lower branch. "Just be grateful that we're not in the states where there are patrols and tags and all that sort of thing."

"I've spent my whole life grateful they haven't bothered with that sort of scrutiny, but I also wonder what Sherlock or Mycroft would do if they were ever called up. Hello, yes, your boys are in horrible trouble again..." Seb gave him a boost, two wide palmed hands catching under his trainer to shove him up enough to grab at the branch.

He swung himself up, clambering into the heart of the tree. He shouldn't be planning to do this, he was doing something forbidden no matter how he rationalized it. But Seb was going away and he wanted to leave something lasting.

Nothing lasted, not really, but memories stayed with a person. A memory lasted pretty long, and John had a couple that were well worn already. He might as well add another one to the pile. Seb climbed up right behind him, fingers digging into the bark, hands filthy and wiped on his knees as he jammed a foot against a branch, and leaned against another. "Hullo."

He grinned at him. "So you know, I can't do everything but..I think I can suck you off.."

"And here I thought I was just getting a little going away making out." Seb shifted, leaning up from his branch and in towards John. His hands were up under John's jumper in seconds, a little cold at the fingertips.

Oh god, he loved the feeling of fingers on skin. He had to awkwardly shift around trying to get his hand over Seb groin. All the skills and finesse they had learned, went out the window in nervous fumbling.

He was going to go two years without practicum, too, which was a sort of horror because it was the only allowed outlet he had, really, except sneaking a wank which wasn't as enjoyable as getting graded on a wank could be. Given the quality of it. Seb kissed him, slow kisses that were counterpoint to the frenzied fingers, to a palm splayed across his back while Seb got John's pants half open before he got his own done.

They were up a fucking tree which had the advantage of being a place which no one would think they would be trying to have sex. "God.." he mumbled at the hot sweetness of the kisses. He was going to have to lie on Seb to be able to suck him off...and he was terrified that maybe he would be crossing a line. 

Companions weren't supposed to *want* other Companions. Companions were supposed to be pure and focused on their Benefactor, because that was why they existed. The last time they'd had that discussion with a couple of teachers, Seb had made booze with fermented apples under their bathroom sink, and gotten completely blitzed, so Seb's thoughts on the matter were clearly mixed and possibly into the non-devotional category. It'd been *really* awful drink, too.

"Yeah. Shame I can't take you home with me." And in two years, John'd be Going Home, the big one, the final one, to Sherlock.

“Maybe we'll see each other. They must spend some time together," John said almost desperately as he tried to memorise his scent, his taste. It would be too easy to lose control. He could feel Seb’s cock hot under his hand, and he pulled his pants down.

Seb exhaled in a huff, hands gripping for a moment and then relaxing against John's skin. "Holy shit, you're actually going to. Jesus."

"I want you to remember me," he said and that was what it was about. He wanted Seb to remember him no matter what, that John skirted dangerously close to breaking the rules for him. He bent his head down and hesitated again. Sherlock would laugh or punish him, one or the other but he wouldn't discard him, he was sure of that. John wasn't entirely sure that Sherlock was that worried. 

He touched the tip of his tongue to Seb's cock and the line was crossed.

"Uhmn." Seb's hands gave up on under his jumper when John leaned down, and one hand settled on his shoulder, the other steadying their precarious position in the tree. He could taste sweat, musk, but clean, familiar, because he knew what Seb's skin tasted like. It was like that, just more so.

He took him into his mouth and it was so much more than the simulations in Practicum. More sensation, more responsiveness and heat, the throb of a pulse under his tongue. He explored the texture and sucked a little as they had been told.

With every motion that he made, Seb gave some kind of noise, or his hands twitched, or he exhaled. He'd never been really overly quiet in practicum, not a talker but noisy. "John..."

"Mm." He hummed in pleasure himself. Fuck, this was good, brilliant and he loved giving head, he decided because Seb was losing it and he was responsible.

He was making someone lose it right under his fingers, his mouth, working slowly. John had about half of him in his mouth, and his fingers wrapped around the base, maybe a little too wet. He wasn't sure, but Seb was groaning, low, deep in his throat. "Oh Christ, oh Christ..."

He sucked trying to remember how to make it good, memorable and make Seb come without giving them away.

The silence was key, and Seb seemed to get that, biting at his bottom lip when John looked up at him to see his face. It looked like ecstasy, an expression he hadn't ever quite seen on Seb's face before. His hips stuttered forward a little.

It was enough to nearly make him gag but he recognised it as a warning that Seb was about to come and prepared himself to swallow. It filled his mouth, salty and slick and damn...he'd done it, he'd actually done it.

"Oh god." Seb gasped it quietly, half bent over John, fingers kneading against his shoulders. 

John grinned, swallowing a few times and shifting up. "I did it, we did it!" he half whispered.

Seb leaned in, kissing him instead of answering. Lips against his mouth, cleaning up mess, kissing away spit and semen and groaning against John's mouth. "Uhm."

"You won't forget me," John murmured. He was hard himself but this was the important moment.

"Hadn't planned on it." Seb's teeth against the side of his mouth, still catching his breath but still managing to get a hand down John's pants at the same time, fingers unsteady as well. 

Oh that felt, felt fantastic and he found himself biting at his Seb's shoulder and moved against his fingers and grip.

Seb tilted his head back. "I think if I try to return the favour, we're going to fall out of the tree. Uhn, god. No better way to sear yourself into memory..." He wrapped his hand around John's dick at last, molded it upright against the fabric of his underwear. Seb'd be crawling into bed with his benefactor and thinking about his first blowjob.

"That's good enough," John groaned and shuddered moving against his hand. "Mmm."

"Just bite me if it gets too awesome," Seb murmured, sliding his other arm around John carefully as he started to smoothly jack him off. He liked to play with John's cockhead, the extra skin there, thumb against the underside.

"Dammit Seb..." he groaned. He wanted to move but they were in a tree. It made him pant and whimper.

He just had to hold still and ride it out, half bracing himself against branches and half holding onto Seb. He could manage tiny jerking motions, but imagined the tree was shaking and leaves were falling off, which might've been a bit much, but he could imagine. He could imagine a lot, his whole life was full of coursework and imagining. "I'll miss this, too."

"I know we shouldn't but.." He was losing the one constant in his life before he was given to the next constant. And oh, fuck he was coming hard enough to make him need to stifle his groans in Seb's chest and shoulder. "Seb..."

"Fuck." Seb exhaled, head tipped back and looking up at the tree canopy, the stars, the sky. "Life's not fair."

"No." He rested on him. "No, it's not. I'm going to be a good Companion, a great one, so will you but.." In another life when there was choice maybe they might have had a run at it together. But in another life he might never have seen Seb at all.

There was no way of telling at all, because so much could've happened. So much could still happen, and for the moment it was just the two of them standing in a tree, breathing unsteady. Seb pulled his hand out of John's trousers, licked at his fingers. "But."

"I'll never forget you," John said and he meant it. He smiled at him, trying to reign that illegal possessive part of him that wanted to keep Seb for himself.

Seb laughed, quiet, a huff, and he wanted to keep that, too, the half-disbelieving noises he made all the time, because it was the same noise Seb made when John put coffee and tea in the minifreezer ice cube trays, laced with crushed up no-doze.  
He smiled again and just held on to the moment as long as he could. Tomorrow he would be a medical intern at 19, dealing with that and Seb would have Gone Home to be some sort of superspy agent. Tonight would have to be the end.

Warm breath against his skin and the smell of sex caught between them, dissipating slowly. It wasn't an altogether bad end.

* * *

Boxes were shipped, leaving a suitcase with toiletries and clothes, while he waited in the headmistress's room for his Benefactor to come. He had a good suit on, and he'd be presented within the week back at the big presentation in London. He was a bit past 21, but there'd been working the balance to get him home not too soon before the ceremony, or else there would've been a scandal.

Never mind that he and John liked to make their own scandals.

Seb knew he was meant to be the more ruthless one out of the two of them but every now and then John had managed to come up with something that was a sharp as a surgeon's scalpel and use it smoothly. He was never going to forget that first time, not for anything.

It left him smirking a little, tucked away in the back of his mind. Yeah, John was a bit of a dick sometimes. Just a tiny bit, and no one believed him because he was just such a... a nice boy. He always got the pass where people took one look at Seb and agreed he was guilty, never mind that they'd both been in on it. Seb liked that edge on John, liked that stunning smooth sharpness. And it only went to show that he knew John far better than he knew the man who was going to take him Home.

It made him nervous. Mycroft wrote very cultured civilized letters and he knew even with his indoctrinated Companion manners and education his tastes ran to rough and tumble. 

"Benefactor Holmes, may I present your Companion, Sebastian," Headmistress Collins said ushering him in, wearing an impeccable suit. He was smaller than he remembered somehow. 

That, or John’s constant joking that he was a tall freak was somewhat less of a joke than he remembered. Seb stood up, vaguely remembered to not put his hands in his suit pockets, and gave the man a smile that he was sure was a hundred times more nervous than he’d meant it to be. He was a grown man, there wasn’t anything to be nervous about, except his complete lack of functional manners if he didn’t pay attention to it. “Sir.” He went down to his knees, because he was supposed to, because that was what they were taught. Submit above all else, and please their benefactor. He was going to be complete shite at that whole task set.

"Sebastian," Mycroft said still in that cultured manner he remembered. "It is a pleasure to finally take you Home." He didn't move to touch him though and it was all very polite. "Get up and let me take a look at you. You look fit and well."

Observation - John was always going on about how Sherlock could tell the most amazing things from just observing, and maybe Mycroft had the same skill. He just wanted some sort of physical reassurance. That wasn't really too much to ask, was it? He stood up smoothly, hands uncomfortably unmoving at his sides, because he was supposed to wait. And he could wait, he'd already waited 11 damn years, another couple of minutes wasn't going to kill him. Still, Seb had sworn he wouldn't, that he *didn't* care about the standard companion crap, because it didn't matter. It wasn't realistic. The unsettling realization that it really *didn't* matter was something else, though.

"Thank you, sir." And Mycroft looked... like a hawk, Seb supposed, and still tall, given that the headmistress was 5'8" in her heels, and Mycroft had a few inches on her, so... so John was right. Just freakishly tall. 

Whatever he was looking for was apparently there because after a while he nodded making a pleased sort of sound under his breath. "Good. We will leave for London shortly. I take it you have said your farewells?" There was just a hint of knowing in his voice that pricked at a slightly guilty conscience. He couldn't know could he?

It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible, so Seb put it down to his own twinge of guilt. "Yes, sir. It was just John." The rest of the companions they knew could go hang. 

"Good, " Mycroft said with a brief nod. "Your things have been loaded into the car. Thank you Headmistress Collins, sterling work as ever." 

His Headmistress nodded and smiled and gave him an oddly pitying look because even as he was gestured to follow him out of the door, and off to his new life, his Benefactor had not even touched him once.  
It wasn't shocking, but it was disappointing, a miserable knot in the middle of his chest sort of feeling because, yeah, there wasn't enough preparing in the world that could lessen the impact of it. At least being abandoned at the Center was sort of a forthright rejection of a Companion, something Seb could almost respect a benefactor for, even if it was a bit chickenshit. If that carried on... Seb didn't quite know what he'd do, except howl righteous indignation that he wasn't supposed to be part of one of those bleeding companion-rejection films that they'd picked apart in literature and media that carried the message that it was up to the Companion to bridge any divide. 

He fell into step beside Mycroft, following him out the grandiose front steps, towards a hired car. Seb didn't look back over his shoulder, not even when the driver came out to open the rear door, and he waited for Mycroft to get in first. He bit his tongue instead, and waited.

He was gestured to enter, and close the door. The car had a privacy screen in and Mycroft eventually spoke. "Sebastian, we have communicated in the past as to hints of might be expected of you. You have been well trained to a very high exacting standard, and I have full confidence in your abilities. However your position as Companion will not follow the norm, as you have no doubt surmised." 

"Yeah. I'm getting that feeling, sir." And that was about all he could say on the matter, pushing down a handful of other responses that were mostly swear words. He needed a minute, or a couple of days, to push back the immediate reaction to that statement.

"What is it that you think I do, Sebastian?" Mycroft said looking at him. "What do you understand of my role in things?"

He didn't really give a flying fuck. Seb stretched his legs out a little, shifting in his seat as he got comfortable. "You work behind the scenes of government, from what I've assumed."

"I do. My brother has on occasion declared, rather melodramatically that I am the British Government," Mycroft was looking at him dispassionately. "An exaggeration of course but I do have a vital role in preserving this country. I am devoted to that cause Sebastian and as my Companion I have ensured that you will be able to best serve me in focusing on that goal. "

He really needed more than five minutes to dig himself up out of a lifetime of brainwashing. Seb was half tempted to see if he could get a cigarette out of his coat pocket, but he probably shouldn't smoke in a hire car. Or at all. "All right, sir."

"You will be my Companion," Mycroft said, "As I observe you are discomfited by my behavior and may experience doubts. However, I am afraid that I do not have an interest in the sexual side of Companionship - I will do what is required however."

"Christ." Seb exhaled hard, and ran both hands over his face, closing his eyes for a moment. On the bright side, it didn't really get *worse* than that, right? Right. It was all sunshine and fucking roses from there.

"Although, I will be lifting my expectation of ...monogamy from you," Mycroft said. "I am not cruel Sebastian."

Not cruel by the way he wanted to live his own life - perhaps it suited him, but... He gave a rough laugh, mostly muffled by his own hands. "Just shut it, please. There's digging a hole, and then there's getting the backhoe out..."

"We will go over this, Sebastian, in more detail. But we will have the Presentation to attend and ensure you have a legitimate identity, and then things will be able to progress," he said calmly.

"Fuck." Seb took his hands from his face, jaw tight as he looked over at Mycroft. Yeah, there was nothing. Just, fucking nothing. There wasn't any person hiding behind the facade, that was all Mycroft, and he just stared at him for a moment before he managed, "if I crack a window, do you mind if I smoke?"

"I believe Companions were forbidden to acquire that habit, but under the circumstances, go ahead," he said inclining his head.

He pressed the power button down, pulling out a cigarette and his lighter. "We're also supposed to be sexually compatible with our Benefactors." He cocked an eyebrow at Mycroft, holding the lighter to the tip while he inhaled slowly to get it to catch.

"Let me make this clear, there is nothing lacking in you Sebastian," Mycroft said firmly. "I am disinterested in sex in general. From an objective viewpoint, you are very desirable."

He closed his lighter, and leaned back towards the window to breathe out. Sometimes it was better to not think at all. "You're my benefactor."

"Yes, I am." Mycroft agreed. "That has not changed." Everything had changed though. All the normal expectations and dreams involved in being a Companion had been blown out of the water.

Seb was quiet for a moment, and Mycroft didn't seem to be bothered by silence, or particularly by Seb's smoking. "You've changed the tenor of how this is supposed to go."

"It is my nature," Mycroft said. "My life is spent changing how things should go." That was true enough. He'd believed that the rigorous training meant he was valuable, necessary, wanted by Mycroft.

Still wasn't quite right. Seb inhaled, and let the smoke slip out of his nose slowly. "I'm supposed to be your *companion*," Seb reiterated just because he felt it needed to be done. "There's a whole... there's over a decade of indoctrination behind that. You could've warned me, you could've done something, *anything* to my curriculum to give me a fucking heads up."

"I have. Otherwise you wouldn't have developed an illicit smoking habit if you were being as closely indoctrinated as others," Mycroft said.

"You didn't do as good a job as you think." Fuck, fuck, fuck. How the Hell was he supposed to be a Companion without that whole emotional physical entanglement? 

"Perhaps so," Mycroft replied. "But what you will do will be more important than anything any Companion has ever done before."

Sure. Seb closed his eyes, and focused on smoking. Welcome Fucking Home.

* * *

Getting to the Holmes residence was no longer the joyous experience he had been taught to expect. He still couldn't get his head around the apparent rejection and tried to think of a way to win Mycroft around. How could anyone not want sex?

As they entered the living room, he was startled to see another, slightly older man there. "Welcome back Mycroft," he smiled at Seb with more warmth than his own Benefactor had demonstrated. Tall, muscled he was obviously military trained. "Is this Sebastian?"

Housekeeper? Bodyguard? Or, Mycroft was a *liar*, which seemed to require more humanity than the man had in him. "Hello." He was still watching Mycroft, still... still nothing. Seb shouldered his backpack, watching as Mycroft moved around the room with apparent comfort.

"Yes. Would you mind taking him up to his room? I have a few phone calls I need to take care."

"No problem," whoever he was said. "You want to come with me Sebastian?"

"Tobias P. Gregson is my aide and head of security," Mycroft said, introducing them as he reached for the phone. "Paul has my authority." The implication was clear.

Excellent, handed off to a babysitter almost immediately. He bit his tongue, and nodded tightly. "Right. Sure." Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. It could go downhill, still, he'd been wrong about that.

"Follow me," Gregson said, with another smile leading him out of the room. "You doing okay? You look a bit like time out would be welcome."

Hours of silence, and now someone wanted to talk to him. Seb's mouth compressed, and he gave a tight shrug. "Hasn't been a really great day, all in all."

"Oh, for fucks sake..." Gregson swore under his breath. "He told you? Mycroft told you before you even got in the door of Going Home? Christ on a fucking pogo stick, for a bloody genius he can be an idiot sometimes. What did he say?"

He had not a fucking thing to say to that fellow, whether he was Mycroft's aide and head of security or not. Seb swallowed, pushing back every immediate reaction he had as they stopped in the hallway when Seb really just wanted to keep walking. He was a normal, and Seb didn't, there were layers and layers of things he'd have to explain and didn't have the urge to. "If you're asking me 'he told you', then you already know what he said."

"I know the content, but not how he told you," he said looking at himwith a frown. "Mmm, okay I think we need to have a talk."

"I think you need to just point me to my room and then do us both a favour and fuck off, all right?" There was a reason Mycroft had made him take meditation classes in with everything else, but he wasn't feeling calm or centered and he wasn't having any particular urge to get a hold of himself. He wanted to punch something.

"Oh playing hard-ass huh?" Gregson said heading up the stairs. "Fuck you, you're going to talk to me like it or not. You might actually hear something useful."

"I'll be surprised," he snapped, angry that he had to follow the bastard up the stairs because he had no idea where he was going. The first thing he was going to do was get out of the house -- mansion, more like -- and explore the area around, and then further out and then further out.

He gestured. "This is your room," he said going inside. "You look pretty pissed off Sebastian, like you want to give someone a good pounding."

It was too big, for a start, but Seb supposed he could fill it with books and take his time. It was pre-furnished, completely over the top moneyed, in a way that made him uncomfortable because... Because without the whole *thing* that was the point of Companions and Benefactors, it really reduced down to a business transaction. "Do you have to keep talking?"

"Yep, pretty much." Gregson smiled again. "Look, I can help clear up a few things for you. Just talk and then I'll leave you to go...look around."

He set his backpack down on the floor near the door, shoved his hands into his pockets while he headed towards the windows. There were enough of them, which was something at least. He had a view, if nothing else. 

And there really was nothing else. "Sure. Say whatever makes you feel better. You're a normal, this *really* doesn't affect you."

"I'm not a Companion, no," Gregson said. "But it does affect me. Whatever happens with Mycroft affects me. Listen, Mycroft is...different. Very different. I know that you are smart, even for Companion trained, but Mycroft is a fucking genius in the most literal way. He's all about the mind, about plans and that's what he gets off on. Nothing can match that for him - sex is a physical distraction not a really enjoyable experience for him, but a mental challenge? That's as good as it gets for him. And he's chosen you to come and play in his sandbox with him. That's pretty fucking intimate for Mycroft - he's never done that. He's never trusted anyone enough and for him to just practically blurt it out to you in the car shows he's pretty damn excited about it. So if you're sitting there thinking, fuck, I've been rejected, here I am with nearly 15 years of training and he doesn't want me, you're wrong. He wants you, in his own way he is giving you the trust he has never had with anyone, but is he going to nail you to the mattress? No."

Which put the onus back on him to change who he was for his benefactor. Seb felt his jaw clench and unclench, and he kept his eyes focused out to the grounds past the window. Yeah, it was his fault, still. Excellent. So he was some sort of supportive mental match for his Benefactor -- but not really, he was still leagues behind him, everyone was. And Seb had never been cerebral. He was bright, he was cunning, but really invested on the inside of his own head? Never. How the fuck was he supposed to match and support his benefactor that way? All he had were reactions and instincts, not plans. "Appreciate you boiling it down to the sex part," he said over his shoulder. "Because hey, that's what it's all about, right? Fuck off."

Gregson showed no signs of going anywhere though. "So what is the problem if it's not that?" he asked, his tone remaining calm and even. "C'mon, I can help you out here." 

"Do you understand how this is supposed to work, and emphasis on *supposed*, because clearly it's not." He figured he could make it work, he just needed some time to turn it over in his head. He was great at just pushing through things whether they made sense or not. But the other half of it was that he wasn't going to be getting a lot out of it even if he made it work for his benefactor.

"Yeah, I know how it's supposed to work," Gregson said quietly. "I've worked with a lot of Benefactors, and believe me as realities go this ain't so bad. You could be one of the poor bastards stuck at home, expected to be celibate because the missus doesn't like the sexual component and there only to clean, cook and look after the kids no matter how talented you are. Or you could belong to one of them who thinks that you can be treated worse than a dog. I've seen that too."

"Which means that I have no right to be pissed off or apparently even bothered because other people have it worse than me." Seb turned around, hands back in his pockets. "That worst case scenario is the ones they *prepare* us for. I'm prepped for fucking depraved. This... "

"You can be pissed off as much as you want, I'm just trying to put things in context," Gregson said with a slight shrug. "I'm not your enemy here, although I get that you need to shout at someone right now." 

"I don't need a person who actually exists as something other than a piece of property to put things into context for me. I was raised in the context," Seb muttered. It was hold still and keep his hands in his pockets, or he was going to lunge at his Benefactor's head of security, which wasn't really an auspicious beginning. "I'm ready for whatever's expected of me. I just. Sort of hoped to get something in return other than more work."

"You will," Gregson said. "Mycroft will reward you. Plus, if it comes out well, you'll get to be a free companion able to choose what you want. Stay or go."

"You know, legally, it never works like that." But it did help to know what sorts of delusions people were harbouring, nevermind that what Gregson thought of as rewarding and what Seb thought of were unrelated.

"Mm." Gregson smiled a little. "You might want to get to know your Benefactor a little better before you start talking about legal or not legal. He has a way of...circumventing things."

"And if he knew his way around the Benefactor Council that well, he never would've had to choose." Seb shifted away from the windows. "Get out and leave me alone."

"Benefits of experience I guess. I don't know everything he thinks of," Gregson said with a shrug and got up. "You think it through Sebastian... take a look around. Dinner will be later on, you won't want to miss that."

"Yeah, sure." He waited for Gregson to head for the door, to leave him alone to silence and anger. He needed to talk to Mycroft, work it through with his actual *Benefactor*, not some intermediary.

The other man left him, making the loneliness even more crushing in its own way. Was it only last night he'd been with John? Was this some superstitious karmic payback for stepping over the line?

Not really possible, given that he doubted his Benefactor had suffered some massive overnight change of personality. He sat down on the floor under the window, just to take a moment, because he could handle it. He could make it all fucking work, because he was expected to. He could be happy with it, because he was expected to be happy about it, as well, from his Benefactor to the man's fucking *staff*.

Mostly, he wished he'd never left the centre.

* * *

Gregson had been at dinner to start with, before having to excuse himself to attend to something and Seb was trying to work out whether the man was the type to hold a grudge over the way he acted towards him. By rights he could be in some serious shit over that. Mycroft was looking a little more relaxed than he had earlier and the food was pretty fantastic. He had been given the choice of whatever he wanted, and there apparently was an in house staff who dealt with it.

So, right. Dinner was probably going to be a standing high point, and he supposed he could at least enjoy that. He wasn't feeling very hungry, but it did taste good, and the tea was good. And it was just he and Mycroft.

He still wasn't sure where to start, not really, but he wanted to make a run at it. "I want to apologize. I was pissed off this morning."

"Apparently so," Mycroft responded sipping his tea. "It has been brought to my attention that perhaps I was not considerate enough of your feelings. For that I apologize to you. It is possibly my greatest strength, and greatest flaw."

He slouched a little in the chair, watching his benefactor's placid, flat expression. "Can you explain it a little better how you envision this working?"

"Perhaps as Paul says, I should put this in context," Mycroft said. "I have since my Benefactor service been responsible for the security of the nation in a less obvious manner than the military. It is a complex, challenging and ultimately very rewarding role, suiting me certainly. I had always known I would have to take a Companion, though I confess I did not feel it was appropriate for me. I did not need someone to wait upon me, or fulfill my needs. It was my brother who pointed out that perhaps the skills I lack would be most beneficial in a Companion. Physical prowess, action, spontaneity... something which I am pleased to say you have in abundance Sebastian. With that in mind, my choice of Companion was someone who would complement me. Be the physical active side that could act where my limitations meant personally I could not."

"All right." That was a little easier to understand, but it was still a leap for him to make in his own head. There still wasn't much in it for him, but it was a better explanation than Gregson's sandbox metaphor. Didn't mean the man was wrong, it was just the expectation that he could be quite that cerebral was horrifying. "So..."

"So there is a plan that involves you Sebastian. I want you to "run away" at a point in the future... or be missing presumed dead. Because there is an organization that has been growing over the last ten years or so that has a figure at the heart of it who rivals the resources we can bring to bear," Mycroft explained. "I need someone who can get close to that person, someone extraordinary in every way. Someone like you."

“So you brought me home to have me run away." The fuck. Seb took a deep sip of tea, and sat up a little taller. "A runaway companion is as good as dead."

"A Companion who I can then arrange to have a new, clean identity who can be free to choose what they want to do with their life, choose who they want to be with, where they want to be," Mycroft said. "I would have thought the benefits were self evident, but again, it has been pointed out I have underestimated the power of the emotional aspect of Companion training, so if that is what you wish, to return to me and my service, that is also an option.”

"And my brand? And if I ever run into any benefactors or companions who remember my presentation?" And his presentation. And everything that was supposed to go with that and all of the warnings about no sex before presentation were sort of moot. 

"The presentation will be a closed affair and I believe, depending on the mode you wish to adopt, a tattoo might be more appropriate as that can be removed. This is not an immediate assignment Sebastian, you will be here continuing your experience, working with me for a while. And with Paul," Mycroft said.

Closed affair. He didn't even know what that meant, but fine. Mycroft clearly *did* have a plan, a long standing plan. He cradled his tea-cup in his hands, and closed his eyes. "If you put it on the inside of my thigh, it'd be harder to spot in day to day life. I'm sure that's considered kinky in some circles."

"You may have it where you wish," Mycroft said giving a thin smile. "Speaking of which, I mentioned it before but I do not wish you to be celibate. You will no doubt have to indulge in sexual relationships."

He cracked an eye, watching that thin smile. "Can we try at least once?"

Mycroft looked discomfited. "I will consider it," he said. "I find that it holds no attraction for me, but I will make the effort."

"Just once. If you're sending me to infiltrate this group, they're going to guess where I came from. I need to plausibly rationalise it." And if it was horrible and really. Really bad for one or both of them, then that would make the whole thing less painful, maybe.

Mycroft contemplated this. "Then we will do this as part of the proceedings of your Presentation and aftermath."

"Which is when it's expected. Might as well go with the brand." Throw another log on the fire, so to speak. Seb took another sip of tea. "Then I'll never bring it up again."

Mycroft smiled a little more. "I doubt it. Unfortunately the Holmes brothers are not particularly bothered by that aspect of human existence."

"Someone should warn John," Seb murmured, cocking an eyebrow as he sat up a little straighter.

"I am afraid that John is not my concern," Mycroft said. "Although I am sure Sherlock is a little more distractible."

"Distractible. Is that the word for it?" He finished off the tea. "That's a shame, but if that's how things are. That's. How they are. When you said closed affair...?"

"Legally binding but with a few trustworthy representatives of the Benefactor community attending as witnesses," he said watching him.

"I was going to suggest, if you want me to work the crowd for casual information... But it sounds like you've already worked that crowd." And he probably already used his bodyguard to work crowds for him at social events that work required of him.

"Indeed," Mycroft replied. "It will be small and private. You may select from the family brand set the design of you particular mark."

"That I will someday take off with an xacto knife." Seb set his cup on the table, watching Mycroft carefully still. "I'm getting my head around this."

"I will answer any questions that you have," Mycroft said with a nod. "I do not expect you to absorb it all immediately."

"I don't really have any questions. Just..." He shrugged his shoulders a little. Lonely, he was going to have to get used to lonely. "I'll adjust to the quiet."

"I hope so," Mycroft replied fixing him with a look. "Do your best. We will be ensuring you have some practical field training as well as understanding of what I do." 

Back to the job. Right, that was where the focus was, he could deal with that. "It's all been theoretical until now. How are you actually so sure I'm capable of this?"

"Because that is what I do," Mycroft said. "I analyze and I plan, assess and direct. You are more than capable... You will relish it."

"I'm sure I will. It's pretty much the one thing I don't have doubts about right now." And being pissed off wasn't going to change his reality. His reality was what it was, and being pissed off about it wasn't going to make his Benefactor not be asexual and distant.

"I hope I can allay your doubts as time goes on and that there will be compensations to this arrangement," Mycroft said. It was a concession of sorts.

"I'm not really interested in the compensations. It..." And he was expected to not be monogamous, which was bothersome. He was supposed to be his *Benefactor's*, for good or shit, that was an automatic extension of trust there. That maybe wasn't deserved at all, but it was still there.

"It is contrary to your education to date, yes, I understand that," Mycroft replied. "There was only so much compromise I could manage with the Benefactor trainers."

He ran a hand back through his hair, scanning the room again. No, still the same as it'd been when he got there. And that conversation was going to go in an endless horrifying circle, so maybe it was best to change the subject. "Who'll I be training with?" 

"Paul in the first instance and his team. He has exceptional experience in practical application of situations. In terms of field training, he is the best for small unit or solo operations." And yet he had seemed so unassuming and not exactly exuding the aura of danger and competence he would have expected.

Then again, if someone was competent they didn't need to exude an aura, they just needed to *be*. "We start in the morning, then?" There was no sense in not throwing himself into it fully, no sense in trying to slowly acclimatize. He might as well get the fuck over himself and get it started.

"If you feel you are ready for it, I will contact Paul and let him know you are ready to start," Mycroft replied looking genuinely pleased with him. "If you need more time to adjust then that can be accommodated."

"Nah, I'd just get bored. I might as well start." If nothing else, he'd be challenged, which gave him less time to be pissed off. And at least he wouldn't be wearing a suit. "I'm going to turn in, if that's all right?"

"Of course," Mycroft replied inclining his head. "Sleep well Sebastian."

Yeah, like hell he would.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Buggered if I know. Great meeting you all, though. So how's this usually work?" Seb made a vague circular gesture to Gregson and his co-teacher, peer sort, Alan. "Impromptu missions, we fuck it up, all the learning happens at the after action, until they've got a better idea of strengths and weaknesses?"

* * *

Despite a shitty, slightly over-thinking night, he was up early, and found the house quiet. It was a good opportunity to explore, and there wasn't any sign of breakfast yet. Or other humans who were awake and moving, which led Seb to quietly checking closed doors, exploring what he was terming the 'living quarters' of the house. It was pretty easy to guess which ones were occupied and which ones could be looked into without waking anyone up. Faint smudges around the door handles, subtly darker patches on the door jamb where people put their hands on the way in and out and the oil transferred. Even with the best cleaning in the world, houses, like schools, like shopping plazas, had a pattern of life that was written in their walls, in carpet wear, in smoothed banisters and worn tile. Suddenly the classes with all of those Law Enforcement Officers made a lot more sense.

Two people other than him lived in the upstairs living quarters, three study sorts of spaces upstairs, storage as well, and four more staff who lived in the downstairs living quarters. So, himself, Mycroft and Gregson. If he had a head of security living in the house, he'd have him nearby enough to be effective if something went wrong. Quick response time. It was easy to find the two rooms that granted the easiest access to each-other on the top floor, mapping the whole space out in his head. Just looking at the doors, he could work out which one was Mycroft's room. His Benefactor was probably still asleep. Seb pressed his palm against the door, but didn't move it.

If he were another companion, he would've intruded. Opened the door, slipped in quietly, gotten into bed with Mycroft. It was, stupidly, one of the things they were told to do if things weren't quite clicking in that initial period, but. Intruding like that didn't feel right. If Mycroft really, honestly had no interest in other people's bodies, or fuck, even just in him, then Sebastian wasn't going to push it past the minimum they needed to establish the story for the man's larger plan. And there was no reason to assume he was lying, until he proved otherwise. Forcing intimacy that another person didn't want -- never mind how much they were *supposed* to want it -- was rape.

He turned away from the door and repressed his startle reaction when he saw Gregson standing in the hallway behind him, already dressed. "Been there for a while?"

"Long enough," Gregson replied. There wasn't any judgment in his steady gaze, though it was hard to tell what he was thinking about finding Seb lingering outside of Mycroft's door. "I see you've been taught how to do your own recon. Want to come get some breakfast and share your findings?"

"Sure." He could at least pretend to be game, play along with the man. Training was training, after all. Gregson did move silently, for a former military sort, and Seb was conscious of the fact he needed to reappraise him after Mycroft's comments. First glance he didn't seem like much, but that was probably a skill in itself. Looking bland and sharp but generally unthreatening.

The kitchen was warm and the cook had been leaving some food to be warmed. "Help yourself," Gregson said as he grabbed a plate. "So, what have you determined?"

"Two people live upstairs, four downstairs. Worked out where Mycroft's room was. Just settling a layout of the place in my head." He grabbed a couple of pieces of French toast, and an apple.

Gregson nodded, the motion encouraging in a way that Seb was familiar with from his teachers. "Correct. The first thing you should do aside from look for exit points is establish as complete mental map of a place as possible. What did you use to determine these conclusions?"

"Wear marks on the carpet, the doors, the banister. You're both right handed, from the banister wear. Mind, noticed that last night as well." A little scrambled egg, and he was done, waiting for Gregson before heading to the bizarrely vast dining room.

"Mycroft tends to work late," Gregson said nodding."Now, fill me in on your practical experience. I'm sure you have been given more theory than most but I want to know how that has been applied."

He sat down, set his plate down, trying to not look askance at Gregson. "I spent the last four years interning with the police department back home. Just investigations." But it had kept him from seeming jealous when John started to really get involved at the hospitals.

"That's a good start," he said nodding. "Were you allowed to have any strategic functions?"

"No." He started to cut up his French toast, and then pointed out, "They treat Companions with kid gloves. I had to fight to even be allowed out at crime scenes."

"Well. we need to change that," Gregson said. "What is your best subject in this?" He had no doubt seen the scores but was asking for his own assessment of things.

He was good in *all* of it, and his courses hadn't been normal at all past 14. "Range qualifications, non-static and static. Tracking. Planning, after those."

"Well, you want to go in at the deep end?" Gregson asked. "When the detail arrives to escort Mycroft today, I can toss you into an ad-hoc training exercise with some other recruits."

"Yeah, that sounds great." Meeting more people, getting out of the fucking quiet building, and getting a little space in his head away from his Presentation, that all sounded fucking fantastic. He ate another couple of bites, chewing quickly. "What's the uniform of the day?"

"You get to make your own choice based on the information you are given. It's a bit of a lateral thinking exercise," Gregson said with a faint grin. "Apparently I can be a devious bastard. You'll meet the other recruits at a center, you'll be given a brief and then allowed to go into the stores, select what you think you need, clothes, equipment and all that shit, and then set out to complete the objective."

"Sounds fun." He lifted his eyebrows at Gregson, and started on his eggs. "How long have you worked here?"

"Six years," Gregson said. "Had an op go sour, needed something a little more...settled." He still smiled slow and easy. "Part of the skill is knowing when to bow out."

"How sour?" He had a feeling that Mycroft's idea of settled was still fairly challenging for normal people. "I'm curious. I've heard enough stories from tutors, but they whitewash things. They... They glorify themselves. They show you the good parts when the bad parts are probably better teaching points."

"Team wiped out, capture, torture, no back up, had to get myself out," Gregson said with a more serious expression. "I was a fucked up mess. Six years later in a lot of ways, I'm still a fucked up mess."

"You don't seem like a fucked up mess." He finished off his French toast, and decided to pocket his apple, save it for later. He started working stoically through the eggs. He wouldn't ask what the mission was -- he'd just find out for himself later.

"I'm a good actor. Half of pulling the sort of shit off that we're looking at is putting out the signals you want other people to see." Gregson was eating his own breakfast. "You get that part, then you've got the big lesson."

He sat back, watching as Gregson took his time with his food. There wasn't a rush, Seb just always ate in a relative hurry. There were things to do, homework to do, time to snatch. "I'll keep that in mind." His first task was going to be falling in with the other recruits and seeming normal, Seb decided. He was glad he'd put on slightly busted jeans and a comfortable button-down.

"It's a new group, drawn from different areas," Gregson said. "We do this a lot. Coffee? Sometimes I just need coffee not tea."

"Is there any in the house? It seems very not properly British." But he could go for some. "What department is this officially or unofficially under?"

"Damn right there is," Gregson said, heading to the side table. There was a coffee pot hidden behind a closed bureau door, and it seemed to be already plugged in. Nice. A concession Mycroft had made for his staff, then, or anyone else going through the house? Maybe. "A little difficult to say... we're probably an MI something." He grinned a little. "Basically, Mycroft has been allocated resources by different departments, so a Mycroft zone."

He fished out some filter coffee and with an intense focus set it going.

"And you do... whatever's necessary?" For the government. It didn't sound like a bad gig, if he could get his skills up to par. Get over the fact that half of his training was going to be intensely useful and the other half was going to be intensely useless.

"Pretty much. We collect interesting skill sets," Gregson answered. "Very interesting and more diverse than the norm. It's not all James Bond, or pure black ops."

"Like what?" He was watching Gregson watch the coffee maker, and moved away to get mugs and sweetener. That was always a way to see how people took their coffee. "I've had tracking and shooting classes. It's not really traditional body guard stuff, which I thought might've been the target after the martial arts work. When that got added to the mix..." Shifted his attention for the better, Seb supposed. He'd liked it, and it was similar and different from his internship at the same time.

"Actors I've mentioned, con artists, computer specialists as a flavour. It's true enough to say you can be the most skilled soldier in the world, but you're buggered in special ops if you don't know how technology works," Gregson said getting the coffee out. "Likewise, being able to crack a computer won't help you if you can't run and get your ass out of the firing line. Common sense but you'd be surprised how often people who are good at one skill set think that's it. That's all they'll need. One of the weaknesses Mycroft spotted from the outset that we had a lot of specialists who kept getting killed."

High rates of death didn't exactly require a rocket scientist to spot, but Seb nodded. "So, mixed teams and cross training is your solution to that." And fill in the gaps with people who had the missing skillsets. Seb waited until Gregson had poured his cup before reaching for the pot.

"Basically, yes. Practical training. Training with people who have actually survived and lived to tell the tale." He sipped his coffee. "Sometimes though, in this game, you can be the best in the business and still get taken out by an accident that could not have been predicted so a lot of it is getting flexibility into the mindset."

Seb took his time, adding a little sugar to his cup. "Doesn't sound so bad. Most jobs can kill you in bizarre fucked up ways." He'd always teased the shit out of John with What If One Of Those Surgical Robots Turn On You?

"True enough. Plenty of young soldiers who think they are invulnerable somehow." Gregson grinned a little. "I used to be one of them. That passes the first time the medics get a hold of you."

"You don't have to be a soldier for someone to get the drop on you. Cops, border workers, drug enforcement, immigrations, cargo inspection..." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm interested in seeing if Mycroft's right, and I can actually handle this."

"On paper you do. But we'll see out in the field. Some people take to it, some don't and there isn't always a rhyme or reason to it. Buddy of mine, Jason, weediest little shrimp of a marine you've ever seen. People were always astonished he was a marine in the first place... But out in the field? He was the deadliest little fucker you've ever seen. He just...moved the right way, could look at a combat situation and know the weak spots and hit them with pinpoint accuracy, and..holy shit, you never wanted to be on the wrong side of him in a fight. Even out massed, he could put you through the floor because dirty was not the word for his fighting."

Seb grinned a little, taking a sip of his coffee. "It's always the short ones. And paper doesn't mean much if it can't convert to practical."

"Uh-huh. So that's what we get to play with. See where your strengths and weaknesses are," Gregson slurped down his coffee. "As a Companion, you at least know about lot of the qualities others have a tendency to struggle with. But you might find some of the mindset limiting."

He was going to regret asking, but regret or no regret, he still said, "Uh-huh, like what?" Because he hadn't wanted to punch his Benefactor's head of security in the last twelve hours. It was past time to give the man an opportunity to refresh that feeling.

"Depends how much of it you've absorbed," Gregson said looking directly at him. "Same problem we have with some of the recruits we pick out... Too much obedience, not enough initiative. Over focus on one directive..." There was something in the way he was looking at him that made him realize that Gregson was dangling bait out to see what he would strike at. And in retrospect, most of his conversation had been that way....and yesterday he'd struck at every damn thing the man had put out there.

He took another sip of the coffee instead. "Hoary old wivestales. If you're timid, you're timid." Though he was starting to get a better appreciation of why the headmistress wanted to kill some of the fellows on staff who kept making comments about women. It was easy to pass sweeping generalized judgment on a gender or a class or a race when it wasn't something you were part of.

Gregson smiled a little, looking pleased as if he had passed some sort of test. Another man, who Seb didn't recognize entered the kitchen and Gregson glanced at him. "Okay, the cavalry are here. Let's get going."

Seb nodded, taking a deep swig of his coffee to finish it off before moving to follow Gregson. Out through the house and past the grounds, past the wall and the fence and the security post and the pinpad and some sort of scanner he'd have to get a better look at later. He'd seen it going in, but he'd also been pissed the fuck off. He was paying attention to everything on this drive out, and listening to Gregson and the other fellow – Alan, some sort of peer relationship to Gregson, though there was no formal introduction – talk while they headed not more than five minutes to what he guessed was the base of operations in a boring-looking office building sort of place. Perfect area to stick something like that.

It all moved quickly after that, and Seb kept scanning, taking the place in, mapping in his head as they walked. The other 'recruits' there were a range of ages, and they looked like they'd been working together for a couple of weeks. Not long, but long enough to be familiar with each other and react to the new guy with curiosity. There was Mark, William, Laura, Cecily, Andre and then himself. He figured he was the youngest, but that they weren't too much older than him. Andre looked about 30, and he was the top end of a fairly diverse group. Gregson left them to stand there for a moment while he gathered his mission materials.

It was probably another test, Seb supposed, as he shook hands and looked each of them in the eye when he said hello. "Glad to join you lot."

Mark was shorter than him and stockier, but fair haired as well and probably a couple of years older than he was. He grinned at him shaking his hand with an easy firm grip. "Another one to join the lambs to the slaughter huh? We're waiting to see how the Colonel kicks our collective arse today. Sebastian, right? "

"I'm not yelling out Sebastian in an exercise," Cecily chipped in. "Hell, if I've been shortened to Cee, I'm shortening him."

"Seb? Bast, Baz...?" Laura suggested

"Fucking Tall guy?" William put in with a sharp smirk to his angular face.

"Yeah, didn't know anyone expected me to be here today. I go by Seb anyway." He smirked back, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. He still had the apple, and just the apple, which left him hoping the place's stores were a little more robust. "So what do you all do? I was just getting read in on theories of cross-training on the drive over." 

"Pulled out of the SAS for this," Andre offered, not smirking. Pulled up from the SAS and probably had stars and shit in his eyes thinking it was the best promotion ever and there he was, oldest man on the team probably thinking he was getting some rag-tag shit. "And what's your specialty? Where'd you get picked up from?" Cutting off the rest of them, all right. Andre was sounding like the self appointed leader from that tilt in his tone, but Seb just rocked on his heels a little, feeling comfortable and casual about the whole thing.

"My local criminal investigations bureau, bit of wilderness stuff, shooting, tracking. Just generally bright." He shrugged, giving what he hoped was a disarming smile.

"SWAT team," Mark said with a shrug. "Sharpshooter I guess if you have to give me a specialism.

Cee rolled her eyes "Hi I'm the local black sheep reformed con-artist now security consultant.," she introduced herself in a sing song voice.

Laura smiled. "MI5 tech specialist," she said. "Field tech specialist."

William grimaced. "Not sure why the fuck I'm in a group - marine, solo ops."

"So you can be pissed off at us and appreciate solo work all the more?" Seb lifted his eyebrows at William, still smiling. "Buggered if I know. Great meeting you all, though. So how's this usually work?" He made a vague circular gesture to Gregson and his co-teacher, peer sort, Alan. "Impromptu missions, we fuck it up, all the learning happens at the after action, until they've got a better idea of strengths and weaknesses?" 

"Wow, glad to see the generally bright description wasn't all hot air," Cee said. "Pretty much. We get given a task, choice of equipment and limiting factors, and we have to decide what to do and how to do it."

"Loved the locate the bomb one," Laura said enthusiastically. "That was great."

"Yeah, the Colonel didn't drop on you from a fucking great height," William said. "Bastard flattened me."

The others were trying not to show too much amusement at that, but Mark couldn't seem to stifle it. "Ah man, seriously it was a classic. There's Will telling us how no one gets the drop on him and then out of nowhere, the Colonel literally drops on him from a great height like the wrath of god or something."

"Fuck you wanker," Will said. "You totally screwed up in the building invasion scenario. Stuck in a fucking lift because you were too much of a lazy bastard to take the stairs."

"Try aiming a sniper rifle when you've sprinted up twenty flights of stairs." Mark sounded mellow, like it didn't seem to bother him that much.

Seb smothered a quiet laugh, because that was a pretty priceless mental image there. One of them standing at the bottom of the lift with his gear while the rest of them raced up the stairs. "Oh, excellent. One of my trainers used to make me do wind-sprints before firing. Maybe he was less of an asshole than I thought." Because they, and police, had usual trainers, not *tutors*, and getting the language of normal people right was his secondary job just then. 

"Just what kind of investigative bureau did you come from?" Andre was giving Seb a dubious look, and Seb shrugged his shoulders.

"We had a lot of time for training in between the odd domestic or worker murder and cow-tipping. Pot plants in the nettles as big crime sort of area, you know?" He didn't have to add anything else, as Alan came over, waving a small sheaf of papers.

"All right, team. We're giving the Colonel a 20 minute head start. Your job today is to find him. No one goes *home* today until you find him. He will have a head start, and he will not be remaining stationary after twenty minutes passes. I'll give you two cards with his biometrics, and two photographs of this most dangerous individual who you are seeking. No area is off limits to him, but he will not be getting on public transit, using a car, taxi or airplane. He will be travelling on *foot*, so please, no BOLOs for a man on a bike. You are not allowed to involve local law enforcement; this one is all ours. If you draw attention from local law enforcement, I will make Mr. Holmes personally bail you out." 

From the suddenly somber expressions, this was an effective deterrent.

"Team or individual?" Will asked. "And any equipment available?"

"Raid the stores as interests you. Team or individual is up to you, William. If you think you've got this, you can leave your team-mates high and dry," Alan said, setting the papers down on the floor before almost dramatically setting the timer. "And, your twenty minutes of prep starts now." 

"Stores have radios?" Seb asked as he looked at all of them and Will as well. "I mean, if you want to hare off on your own, don't let us deter you, but. An individual moves faster than a group, and we could do leap-frog tracking if we've got decent comms, yeah?"

"I can rig that," Laura said immediately. "Let me at them."

"Considering we don't know which way he went, we'll have to cover the ground." Andre said. "Okay, let's get some communications, hit the stores."

Seb fell in with them as they led the way to the stores, and he took in the interior of the place a little better, scanning and watching. "This is find the fugitive for dummies, right? On *foot*. He'll have left a foot-print right outside a door, I wager. We sort out which one is his, get a photo of it, make a sketch, share it around, and we'll at least be able to get a general initial direction." 

"Yeah, you wish," Will said sarcastically. "That's for the normal recruits, not this group. It'll be much less obvious. If there's a clue it'll be subtle. He won't want us to find him."

"The Colonel is always saying motivation is key to pursuit," Cee said. "It's true. "Are they running to get away, to hide, or target to a goal.."

And his motivation seemed to be testing today. "Hiding to target an objective," Mark shrugged. "We'll be at this all day."

"And tomorrow it's another random thing on tap, and the same the day after?" Seb turned his head to glance down a hallway. "How long have you all been working together?"

"Couple of weeks," Andre said. "Okay, lets see what they've given us this time. Stores open."

They were allowed in and then he got his first look at the equipment. Communication gear, some things like scopes, smart phones. Night vision scopes...huh, was that a decoy? Rope for some reason. Smart phones were good backup comms, easy to pocket. "When we catch up with him, is it freeze tag and he gives up, or do we actually need to subdue him?" Seb asked, glancing at the rope. He'd grab a scope for sure. No guns, but scopes were good as binos given the right model.

"He won't got down easy," Andre said and started loading up. "Laura, we need a map with grid references. "

"Get your smartphones, I've got an app I can roll out for that," she said already working. "We can...phone track too. I love apps."

"Don't get caught, but take a man down fighting in broad daylight. Brilliant." Seb reached for a good length of rope, and snagged a phone after the rest of them had gone back to what he assumed as their usual phone. All he had on was a jacket, but he could loosely knot it and put it over his arm, then put his coat back on. Yeah, that was the plan. The scope, well. Clearly he needed to pick up a ruck.

Clearly he needed to talk to his benefactor about getting a access to a few resources so he could do things like pick up a ruck, once he had his bloody ID. One more reason to avoid the police.

"Okay.. everyone got their apps?" Andre said. " We're going to take a section each. Laura, subdivide the map. Anyone who gets a solid lead contacts everyone to converge on the location. You can pursue into other divisions. and we have regular check in. Your area should be highlighted. Remember, the Colonel is a cunning bastard and has been evading people for years, he's likely to plant false trails. Don't try and bring him down alone."

"Yeah, that never ends well," Mark said.

"20 mins is up," Alan said.

Seb shrugged into his coat a little better, and adjusted the earpiece that fed the radio that was hooked onto the back of his belt. "All right. See the rest of you later..."

And into the wilds. They stayed clustered together for a little bit, until they got outside. And then they all split up, leaving Seb to forge off, wary and not at all feeling overconfident as he scanned the ground, the streets, taking what felt like natural paths, because humans were lazy bastards. No spoor to follow, though, and that left him feeling a little lacking. Urban terrain was crap for it, in ways that the woods weren't. At fifteen, and thirty, and forty five, they all chimed in with Nothing Significant To Reports.

The phone app was useful. He was studying the map and there were some interesting spots if you were going to conceal yourself. Gregson did seem to like his coffee. There was a coffee place close by, and possibly the Colonel might want to do hide in plain sight for a bit.

He headed there at a casual pace. Still watching, still scanning very calmly, but it seemed the thing to do. There was a couple of tables outside, and he didn't see Gregson at them, but he could duck in, get a glass of water if he felt he needed to make an excuse for standing around, look, and then duck back out.

He entered the coffee shop scanning the place. No sign of him, but on one table there was a half drunk coffee that was still steaming. Why would someone leave a hot cup? That seemed strange. It could just be random but it was an anomaly.

Never ignore an anomaly. He picked the cup up, and headed for the counter with his copy of Gregson's picture. "Excuse me, sir -- was this fellow in here?"

The man frowned. "Looks kinda familiar." He looked at the cup. "Oh yeah the special blend, yeah served that not long ago. Not sure where he went though. think he had a donut too."

He must have left unobtrusively, out through the back or bathroom.

"Thanks." He stepped outside, went up on comms. "Hey, I have a positive ID on him at the coffee shop in my sector. Left half a cup, still steaming."

"Good going Seb. We'll converge on your marker. He can't be far away. Watch yourself, he's been known to pretend to run then take someone out from ambush," Andre warned. "See what you can find out."

"Man, he's going to pissed with you rumbling him before he finished coffee," Cee said over the comm. "Heading your way."

"Don't think it'll be that easy, " Seb uttered. He started to take a better look around. No sign, so he started out in the area again.

The back alley was filthy and he was cautious going in. There was a rather obvious looking bit of donut on the ground near the skip out back. Was that a trap or a mislead?

He looked harder for a moment, and then started forward cautiously. What the Hell, right?

As he reached the donut bit warily nothing happened. A look at the skip next to it, and he had one moment when a pile of rubbish dropped on his head, full of tangling stuff . He was trying to whirl around, and then there was a calculated shove in the back of the knees and he was toppled into the skip in the space of a seconds...

And presumably, Gregson was legging it away.

He twisted fast, not taking time to clean himself off before he started off in the direction of Gregson's footsteps. He could see him up ahead on the long street, and he could overtake him with time. Haphazardly, he hit the comms again. "Contact, on the run, heading down..."

"I can see you on Sadler street," Andre said. "Careful... he's good at vanishing mid chase. Keep your eye on him."

They all sounded like they were running now, on the comms, the early contact making them hyped and ready for it. If they could just get him, knock him out early... Seb kept his eyes on Gregson, taking a deep breath before he started with just a little more speed. 

There was the minor problem of the policeman he blew past. There was a shout behind him and he got the impression he was being shouted at to stop. He probably looked like he was trying to mug the guy. Jesus. "Stop!"

He stopped, turning around and taking a moment to catch his breath. "Morning, sir." Gregson was no doubt long, long fucking gone now.

"What's the hurry sir?" he was asked by the policeman looking him over. "You could have knocked over someone more vulnerable. You need to be more careful."

"Sorry. I was just trying to catch up with one of my mates." He ran a hand back through his hair, slipped the earpiece out before the cop could see it, edged it into his collar. 

"Right." He was given a good look over. "Just take more care in future." The policeman headed off. He was lucky he hadn't been asked for ID, that could have been awkward. Shit, where had he gone?

He turned around the corner, refitting his earpiece and pulling out his phone again. "Sorry, got detained briefly and lost him."

"Shit." Will said over the comm. "Okay, I'm in your sector. Which way did he run? I can come in at a tangent."

A quick check... "North, he was heading North. Shit. *Shit*."

"Roger that," Mark said. "What do we have north?"

"There's a park area due north," Laura chimed in. "Could be a destination."

"Close in on the park," Andre said. "We should be able to intercept if you continue the pursuit."

Checking for the cop again before he took off on his run. He kept on swearing in his head as he picked up again, trying to clean himself off as he went, and paying attention at the same time.

There was something niggling at him. Would Gregson really head toward a wide open space? Knowing the teams have been alerted? Shit. Too damn obvious. Someone who could improvise a trap in all of 2 minutes was not going to run out in the middle of a green space to be spotted.

He edged back, scanning, looking to the north east instead. "He's not going to go there. He just jumped out at me from a trash can, why the fuck would he go for a wide open space?"

"Perfect territory for a survival specialist," Will said. "Trees, bushes, water...I'm at the fucking park anyway."

"Yeah, me too," Cee replied. "Mark?" 

"Going for a vantage point...was he wearing anything different from this morning?" Mark asked. "I can see the park entrances from here." Smart move. Sniper mentality there. North east, what was there? Shit. Looked like some tunnel works and that was a whole other ball game.

"I'm going to go on north east. Park seems like easy game to me," Seb murmured, starting off that way and keeping alert, scanning as he walked. "I'll circle back if you have something."

"Check that," Andre said. "We've got the park covered and we can close the net. Gonna start calling you bird-dog if you keep flushing out the game like this."

"Nice." He laughed, and ran his hand back through his hair again as he headed in towards the tunnels. "Going silent again."

And then it was just searching. The park ended up being a predictable wash, so Laura re-sectored their phones from that point, and he continued on through the tunnels with jack all as far as leads. Three hours passed, and then four, and he kept walking, kept looking. He went to high ground eventually, going up a fire escape to just look out in his sector.

His respect for Gregson, for Paul or Tobias or whatever it was Mycroft had called him, had jumped a notch or two from rock bottom. The team were innovative in their approaches, trying lots of different strategies, but he had evaded them. He had to be in this area somewhere, he knew it and maybe having gone underground he was switching it up and going above ground.

"I see you, Seb," Mark came in on the comm. "Making your own observation point?"

"Keeping it flexible. I can see your scope, naked eye." He waved vaguely in Mark's direction, and then turned his attention back to the streets.

"You got a lead? I've scanned the streets and walkways. Cee is running down the rest of the tunnels with Will, but I'm pretty sure that fresh scrape was an exit point after all," Mark said.

They'd switched channels, but the main channel would open up if Will or Cee got anything. "Yeah. If that fucking cop hadn't stopped me, I would've caught him. Except the last thing I want is Mycroft bailing me out first day."

"Yeah, you don't want that," Mark agreed. There was the flash of the scoop. "Holy shit...above you Seb, just saw a figure on the roof above you. Either him or a jumper."

He pivoted, looking up and fuck, that was no jumper. Shit, shit shit. "It's him." He flipped to the main channel. "Mark spotted him. I'm going to pursue, push him back South to you guys." There was just the question of where and how to get there.

"Treed the bastard," Will exulted. "We can surround the building in five, keep him occupied until then."

"Yeah, well move fast." Seb eyed a good outcropping, and hell, he could jump from there to the utility ladder. 

It was probably the ultimate in not-thinking, but he'd worry about it later. He took one good breath, a measured pause, and then jumped to the ladder. It rattled, jarred hard and made his shoulder hurt, but he caught a rung with his foot and started up immediately. What better way to tree someone than to go up it with them?

He heard Mark swearing in his ear, but dismissed it. He was meant to keep Gregson occupied until the others closed in. They were converging on the building. He could hear Will announcing he was in the building moving straight up, Andre was there too and he was willing to bet they were taking the lift to the roof.

Which was good. But he reached it first, got his feet steady on the roof, and watched Gregson standing there with his hands folded in a comfortable way behind his back. Well. He could have a weapon, and all Seb had was a snack. Still, he curled his hand around the apple in his pocket, now quite battered, and just waited. "You should give up."

"Really?" Gregson grinned at him. "Why would I do that? I could still give you the slip." Too casual. As if he expected Seb to come at him hand to hand and was ready for it.

There was no fucking way he was going to go hand to hand with Gregson on a *roof*. "You could jump," Seb agreed. "There's only one ladder on this building, oh, and the stairs over there. Still, I don't see a base jumping pack on your back."

"Knew I'd forgotten something," Gregson said. "So what's to stop me using the ladder? You? Because they will be all trying to get up the roof and they'll come up from this entrance. I could just walk over there now."

"But you're not," Seb pointed out, waiting for it. Waiting, and waiting, and Gregson took a step towards him, another step, towards the center of the roof, and Seb pulled the apple out and whipped it hard at Gregson's head. He didn't wait to see what happened, just rushed him then, pulling the rope out from under his jacket. All he needed to do was pin him down and get him restrained, and not get his ass kicked trying it.

It was unexpected enough that the apple did bean Paul hard on the head with an odd hollow pop of a sound that did catch him by surprise, but the pinning down didn't go so well. The others had not been exaggerating. The element of surprise got him down, but then Gregson came back forcing him back, and coming at him again, a brightness in his eyes as he did so. Seb swore, and twisted, got a knee in Gregson's back, and got a hold of one wrist, but the other was eluding him. And the sudden kick in his side as Gregson twisted again, free except for the wrist, startled him. The pain wasn't that bothersome, just that he had to start trying to subdue the man all over again.

They tussled backwards and forward and it was like wrestling a fucking eel and he was still doing it when the others poured onto the roof and pitched in as well. After that it was just a matter of time.

A long, tiring matter of time, but enough people and rope could subdue anyone, and Seb let them get in there, shaking out his shoulder and stretching his back. "Please someone tell me the next challenge isn't getting a trussed up man back to the compound without running into the police," Seb half-stated, half asked. "And if it is, I'm going to need to steal a carpet somewhere."

"Nope, you get let off of that one," Gregson said. " Okay, let me up guys. Good going. Not bad at all. We'll head back to the center and clean up, and debrief. We need to go over the steps in the pursuit, but all in all, that was a damn good showing. I'm going to have to make it more difficult for you next time. " He did look genuinely pleased even as Cee helped untie him. He gave a nod to Seb.

Seb grinned a little, hands back into his pockets. Yeah, that'd felt good. It was late afternoon by looking at the sky, and he was starving. Starving and needing a shower. Not over yet, but close. "Next time you jump out of a trash can at me, I'm ready for you." 

It was a longer walk back than he'd expected, but they'd covered a lot of ground over the last few hours, even if they were covering it carefully. The others fell into banter, but Seb hung back, watching the streets. 

They'd changed since the morning; the way people walked was different, the light on the sides of the buildings. He couldn't really remember having quite that long a leash before, even if it was just radio comms, roaming free and unsupervised for so long. He'd always been partnered up with someone at the department, because unregistered Companions were just asking for trouble. Just having time to take it all in, to watch couples start to gather in the cafes and restaurants, businessmen and women hurrying home, or hurrying off to happy hour, taking that first de-stressing deep breath, it was a different pattern than the morning errand runners, the coffee drinkers, the late to workers, the lunch rush crowd, the shoppers. This was on the edge of something, and he wasn't sure what. There had to be a word for that.

"Nah, he's off in outer fucking space." Will's voice got his attention, now that they were closer to the compound.

"What, I was watching the street."

"You've got some legs on you," Cee said. "And Mark was saying you went up that ladder like a monkey."

"Yeah, " Mark was saying. "I'm going to remember that if we're put in competing teams."

"Alan texted. We've got food waiting," Laura announced. "I'm starving. Must have burned off a hell of a lot today."

"I think we all did. AAR next, then?" Seb kept scanning, looking around. Yeah, it felt good. Gregson was up in the lead now, and they probably looked like a group of school children being led off, but oh. The first day Home had been horrible, and the second felt nigh on glorious. And he had another couple until the Presentation.

"Beer after that," Will grinned, dropping back apparently to just slap him on the back. Excellent opportunity for bonding with the team, going out -- horrible because he still had no ID. That was going to drive him batty.

"Nah, probably not. I'm bushed."

"Fucking lightweight," Will said in a good natured way.

"C'mon, it's his first time out. Remember what we were like on our first," Mark said. "My legs were screwed. Muscles I never knew I had were screaming."

"Considering you always take the lift, hey.." Andre ribbed him.

"Yeah, yeah," Mark said. "You what until you need some sharpshooting then you'll be kissing my ass."

"Sniper ops are hell, you'd never hack it," Cee poked at him again as they entered the compound and from there made their way into the showers.

"Clean up all of you, then hit the canteen, we'll debrief over dinner," Gregson said.

Seb shrugged out of his coat, stretching his arms casually to get them relaxed. The girls veered off to one side, and Seb watched them go, falling in with Will and Andre and Mark because they seemed to know where they were going. There was a locker room that gave way to shower-heads mounted on the wall, and just. Open fucking air. Christ, there, there was a great example for Gregson -- a companion's knee jerk discomfort at being naked in front of strangers at his fucking age. "Is there a gear list I need to go get?" he asked, eyeing the room with forced bored disinterest as he started to un-wind the comms system from himself. 

"Alan, sort Seb out with the basic kit," Gregson said nodding as the others hit the showers, quickly shucking their clothes off. Seb kept his eyes focused on Gregson. "Your change of clothes is on the side." He had obviously sorted that already and that was a relief as it would be stupid to put rubbish stained clothes back on after a shower.

"Here we go. Think I've got your size," he said bringing up a sizeable ruck. "This is the standard gear. You want an upgrade, that's fine but that needs to be paid for, or justified to Mr. Holmes. We do some country based exercises, and training so there is survival gear included. Sign here..."

"Thanks." He signed the property receipt, watched Alan split it into two copies, tucking one into a pocket of the ruck for him. He leaned the ruck up against one of the lockers, glancing over at Gregson as Alan seemed to do a quick headcount before veering out of the locker room. He sat on the bench to start untying his boots when he saw Gregson’s bare legs pass him. They were good boots, comfortably worn, and he was glad he'd gotten them in the first place. From Mycroft. Funny, if he wanted upgrades on anything, ever, he was going to be justifying it to Mr. Holmes. 

If he loitered long enough, he'd get the shower to himself, even if it cut into eating time.

He managed to time it about right. He didn't need a long shower time although they were taught they should try and be as immaculately presented as possible in all circumstances. His hair actually favored a bit of the soft messy style so he gave himself a five minute scrub over and wash down before he hurriedly dried off and went to catch up with the others, grabbing a plateful from the canteen. Gregson was in full flow "- surprisingly well. Effective use of resources and you actually stood a chance of getting me under the two hour mark."

"Sorry, got caught up getting my gear straight," Seb declared, all but sliding in at the bare space at the end of the bench, beside Mark. Once he had a little time, the whole thing would feel like less of a juggling act, but there was going to be a lot of team, and shared spaces, and he needed to get the fuck over that. He needed to get the brand high inside his thigh, now he was sure of it. He was buggered, and eventually someone would see it and ask what the hell was that.

"Thanks to the human bird dog there," Cee commented. He started to eat his sandwich while listening to them talk. 

"Yes. Seb, you want to run through how you located me at the coffee shop?" Gregson said. "Hiding in plain sight can be an effective tool, remember that when we do a reverse fox and hound. Each one of you will be doing this exercise against all the rest at some point."

"You like coffee," Seb pointed out. "It seemed logical to me. People, even on the run, fall into familiar patterns, take lazy shortcuts. You got the special blend, so you'd been there before."

"So he followed a hunch based on known behaviour," Gregson said. "Where you don't know habits try and find them out, if you don't fall back on generic human behaviour. People get hungry, thirsty, need to relieve themselves.... that can lure them almost subconsciously into behaviour patterns. What alerted you in the coffee shop itself?"

"It looked like it had a good pattern of activity. Not so crowded you'd be standing in line forever, not so empty you'd be the one guy sitting in the shop." It had looked like someplace he'd stop himself, if he had the leeway.

"And I left half a cup of hot coffee there," Gregson said. "Logical behaviour -- get rattled by a close call, leave a tell tale. In this instance I did that with full knowledge, but you need to remember that. Now, that was the point at which you could have caught up with me. Comments on what else could have been done regarding the confrontation in the alley way?"

"I should've waited for backup before spooking you and getting myself tipped into the skip?" Seb suggested after swallowing a mouthful of sandwich.

"That's obvious," Will agreed. Hah, that coming from Mr. Solo himself.

"Or I might have already gone and you could have been caught there, waiting to spring a non-existant trap. Two strategies you can use in that situation as the runner. " Gregson said. "One, an ambush, two, pretend an ambush, make it look like a trap to slow them down. Yes, Seb could have held back a little but in actually tripping the ambush wasn't so much the problem as the fact there was no one there to back him up. Take a moment to scan for the trap if you think there might be one. Look at feet, ankle level, waist and groin and head and above and be prepared for a side on attack." 

It was all useful to know, so Seb paid attention as Gregson's points went on -- every one valid and useful, something for him to remember next time, or when he was serving as quarry. He finished eating when the rest of them did, despite his later start, and then just sat there nursing a cup of tea, listening as Gregson worked his way to the wrap up.

"All in all everyone, I'm impressed. This went well today and we reconvene on Thursday," Gregson said. "Skills practice on Thursday. Bring a technique to share."

"Ooo, I've got a great one!" Laura said happily. "It's an awesome hack."

"I can teach you how to drink your own piss," Will said sourly.

"I don't think that takes a lot of teaching," Seb pointed out, arching an eyebrow at Will. A skill to teach? "What's on tap for tomorrow?"

"Theory and research day," Gregson said. "They've got paper assignments to work through. You'll get yours soon enough. this first set of assignments is generally on a different target culture. There will be a series of presentations. You'll get yours soon."

"Ah, finally -- all those literature and media courses'll be useful," Seb smirked. He got himself elbowed by Mark. 

"That's cheating, isn't it?"

"Nah, that's a natural handicap. What cultures have you all got, out of curiosity?" So, he had a day off. Not bad. He could explore the grounds better.

"Middle east topics," Cee replied.

"I wish... Soviets," Will said with a shrug. "Vodka all the way."

"We all get something we haven't really had before and a specific target question in that culture," Laura said. 

"So what's your target question?" He liked to keep them talking about what he was already behind on, about themselves. It got him a little *less* behind the curve, and he liked that.

"Me? " Mark said. "I've got to discuss Pashtunwali and potential implications."

"I've got the Russian Benefactor system, " Will said. "What the fuck do I know about that?"

Huh, that'd be an interesting one to sit through, probably miserably squirm worthy from Will's attitude. Seb leaned a little, and pointed at Cee. "What've you got?"

"Rule of Law in the Mahgreb."

"Huh. Sounds cool. Haven't had to write a paper in.... the last three months." He glanced at Gregson.

"Been years for me," Andre said gruffly. "Damn it. Rusty as all hell."

"Don't get comfortable, I'll change that," Gregson said. "Any other questions before you head off down the pub?"

Seb shook his head minutely, watching the rest of them. He waited until they started to break up organically, until it seemed all right to slip away quietly and try to connect back up with Gregson to get a ride home.

"C'mon Seb," Gregson said as the others drifted out. "We need to get you back for the evening meal and my work shift." He was expected to follow as the other man headed to the car. "So how was it for you?"

"Good. Really good. Sorry about the apple to your head." He fell into step with him. "I'm getting a better feeling for what we're doing."

"Yeah, there are but you were pretty damn impressive. Apple to the head was a nice touch. Improvisation, that is something that is very difficult to teach. Good aim, and there's not many that could get me down on the first try."

"Thanks." It left him hopeful that yes, he could actually manage what was expected of him, that it felt good. Interesting and rewarding. They both stopped momentarily to pile into the car. "You said you have a shift after this?"

"Back at home, on nights tonight so that's why they get a day free tomorrow." Gregson said with a nod. "Let's get you back and you can tell your Benefactor about your adventure in bringing down his chief of security."

"I think it'll be a short story, but yeah." Not bad, not bad at all. He could maybe stand a life like that.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb was really just being a self-centered prick. Paul was trying to help and his team-mates just didn't seem to bloody care except that he could do the job, and the job was fun. The job was excellent. And Mycroft just... wasn't involved on that level with him, and he never was going to be, and he needed to get himself to come around to it.

He'd survived to Friday and the obstacle course. It'd had to be an obstacle course, and a grueling one, at a facility outside the city. Physical fitness was important, yeah, but he was mostly sure they were all still a bit wrung out from Tuesday, except possibly Will. Will was a sick bastard, Seb had decided after the third wall climb that ended in a mud pit, followed by a rucked run that included tires, ropes, low crawls, bars and ladders. Keeping shit varied, he was sure of it. And it wasn't like Gregson was staying out of it. Gregson was right there with them at each turn of the course. Alan was watching, spotting, marking things down, but Gregson — Paul was laughing and encouraging and... leading while participating in it with them.

It was the sort of leadership Seb could respect. 

After the first run through the course, Seb started to feel the point of it. They were all exhausted, all worn down and it took the competitive edge down, made them have to help each-other as arms started to ache and feet slipped. Will seemed to have endless strength, pocket reserves, and so did Andre, that were useful for hauling other people up over the sheer climbs. The running was easier for Seb, because he was used to it, really functional running. He couldn't make other people run faster, but he could fall back to join and encourage them, help adjust their packs, dig water out, and keep the pace edging forward. There was no fixing the mud-pits, except that Cee kept giggling hysterically every time she ended up in one, which was a good counterpoint to Mark's sour mutters about them.

Five runs through, and Gregson finally, blessedly, gave the monotonous circuit a reprieve. Seb was fairly sure he was going to die of exhaustion, but they'd done it, kept up, managed whatever Paul's expectations had been.

He sprawled out on the grass with the rest of them, breathing hard and holding his stomach as if that would really ease the stitch up his side. "Fuck, that was brutal." And he still needed to get home, shower. Shave, look presentable, shift his headspace. Christ. He didn't even know where they were supposed to go -- the Council house? Presentation hall? It *was* the big presentation night, with at least five other companions being presented. But Mycroft had said small, trusted group, closed affair.

"Hey, go rinse off -- shower space is that way," Alan ordered from what felt like suddenly nearby. Fuck, he could hear the clipboard and paper, cracked his eyes open. Alan gestured to the same building where the bathroom was. Yeah, showers on the wall like a prison, couple of stall toilets. He was sort of living to avoid that.

Seb took a hard breath, and willed himself to sit up, while the others groaned and started moving as well. Not twenty yards away was Mycroft, looking completely out of place in a well-tailored suit, leaning against a tree and watching them as they staggered to their feet. Either 13 years of indoctrination was really, really good, or they did some kind of surgical alternation on companions, a chip, maybe something related to a lobotomy, Seb didn't know, because there was his Benefactor and he just wanted to kneel down and wait. He hadn't seen in him two days because Mycroft had had work the previous day, and that urge was just *there*.

Pavlov had nothing on the Centre. 

"Sebastian, up and come and meet Mr Holmes," Paul called out. "Get your official seal of approval."

It was a clever diversion because he could see some of the others watching. He got up, started towards Mycroft in as casual a walk as he could manage. He was a muddy wreck, which was no way to greet his benefactor. "Sir."

"Sebastian, an impressive performance," Mycroft said. "I see Paul's reports have not been exaggerated." He was giving him a look that indicated he was noting what Seb wanted to do.

Seb exhaled, controlling himself, *managing* to control that reaction. "Thanks." He lifted his eyebrows when he said it, stopping a couple of feet short of him, because what did he want Seb to do? It was ingrained, and Seb hadn't done anything right, anything the normal companion way so far.

"I need you to confirm the design of your brand and exact positioning," he said. "These are the choices. The Holmes symbol is derived from the Haln line, with a suitably dramatic stylized lightning bolt as our family symbol. You may add a symbol to personalise it."

Oh, Hell. Standing there with them probably watching and lurking, and Seb had to breathe in hard, focused as he hesitated. "I, uh. Uh. Inside of the thigh, uh, I'm sorry, I'm completely distracted."

"You could go for warrior sword and shield," Paul said. "Protector, defender, honour, loyalty, fealty. The lightning bolt will be macho enough that people will not question it if they see it."

"It is a possible idea," Mycroft said. "Unless you wish one of the traditional animals — We have a hawk as a line symbol."

It took him a moment to focus long enough, pushing a dirty hand back through his dirty hair. Jesus, nothing was normal and expected, and that was fine, he kept telling himself that as he looked at the sword and shield, the lightning bolt, the hawk. Clean simple modifiers to the brand, and he racked his mind for a moment. "Sword and shield, then." Because he wasn't really part of the line, and the line wouldn't continue through him. The most he could manage for Mycroft was loyalty. He couldn't even touch him just then, because he was a muddy mess and the other trainees were showering off, but close enough. "What're.... When?"

"You will have time to go and clean up," Mycroft offered coolly. "Your Presentation robes will be back at the house and we are due at the Benefactor Council at seven tonight."

Four hours. He hadn't even seen the Opener, which was. Really something he was thinking about never thinking about. There were things Benefactors did, things that were *standard*, but that wasn't going to happen, either. He'd take care of himself. "Are we going back now, or am I wrapping up with the others and then...?" Just lose another hour, but three hours was still fine. Two with driving time. Two hours was plenty of time to shower, relax, and...

No, he was never going to relax and the opener part of the thing was going to suck, but Seb chewed on the inside of his mouth and waited for Mycroft to respond while Paul stood there because there were things you just didn't discuss in front of other people, or apparently at all. Fuck.

"Paul is going to take you back to the house now," Mycroft said. "And ensure that you are ready. I will join you shortly."

He felt his chest knot up uncomfortably again, an astonishingly unexpected miserable feeling. Apparently anything could be delegated if a person were bureaucratic enough, but either he'd heard that wrong or it was beyond the pale. Seb blinked, licked his lower lip, and countered, "I'll just grab my shit from the locker room and call a taxi instead, all right?" before he turned to do just that. 

"Seb, go grab your gear and meet me outside shortly," Paul said firmly and he could be sure but he thought he heard him turn to Mycroft and say "For fucks sake Mycroft!" but that couldn't be right. Paul was meant to be the security detail but he could vaguely hear his voice rising and falling behind him. He was used to the tone of it now.

He made it to the locker space in the obstacle course field, still a muddy fucking mess just as the rest of them were filtering out from the showers, wrapped in towels and chatting while he spun the dial in his lock with shaking fingers. Fuck, he was so pissed he was almost breathless, and he went right past the number, clenched his jaw and started on the lock again. Had his Benefactor *really* just declared that Paul would be helping him get ready? Fuck!

"Dude, you okay?" Mark asked as he wandered past. "You look pretty pissed. Our lord and master give you hard time?"

"We just don't see eye to eye on much of anything." He closed his eyes, took another breath, and focused on the combination. Left, left left, right, left, fuck, it wouldn't open. He leaned his forehead against the metal, and started again, much slower. 

"Sucks man, " Mark said sympathetically. "He's meant to be the best. You gotta leave already? We were hoping to get out out for a drink."

The lock finally came open, before he decided to kick his locker in. "Another night. And yeah. I'm sure he's the best. This... this whole thing's really good. 's a good team. I'm just a self-centered asshole." He shouldered his pack, and put the lock back on with one hand. "Have a good night, all right?"

"Yeah, cheers," Mark said looking worried. "See you soon okay?" At least someone seemed to be worried about him, even if it wasn't meant to be one of the team.

He gave a vague wave as he left, heading past the empty obstacles towards the front of the grounds where everyone had parked up. Andre was already out there, leaning into his vehicle and digging something out of the back seat. Paul wasn't anywhere in sight yet.

This was meant to be the start of his real life. It was *the* night, a Companion wedding if you were male. Precious and intimate, and he’d always thought it was bullshit but it pissed him off to not even get an opportunity..

"Not staying?" Andre asked standing up. He was eyeing him. "You know...I know what the deal is with you, Seb. It's nothing to worry about."

He rubbed at some of the dirt on the side of his neck, because it was itching where it dried. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Andre moved in closer. "You're a Companion right? I recognise the signs... I figure you've got to be Gregson's even though I'd say he too was old to have one. But given the secret shit he's done maybe there was a dispensation."

Seb's fingers tightened on the strap of his pack, and he felt himself frowning before he could really control it. So close but so wrong -- or maybe not. Hell, he was being handed off to Paul for all of those inconvenient things Mycroft didn't want to bother with. Why not? Why not pretend he was Paul's, fuck him, get it over with. Maybe he was supposed to be some reward for the man from Mycroft, as well as a long-trained poison pill for some shadowy organization.

So many other things except wanted for himself. "How the fuck did you jump to that conclusion?" 

"Mannerisms," Andre said. "Had a Companion and Benefactor in my unit some time back. Great pair of soldiers but certain things triggered reflexes. Communal showering for a start."

Well, they weren't daft, that was for sure. He didn't know why he even thought he could hide it. Seb closed his eyes, and heard the crunch of feet over gravel approaching. "Figures."

Paul was coming over, and he looked angry. "Goddam it, Seb, get in the car," he said.

"Yes sir." He hoped he'd leave dried dirt in the passenger seat. He walked away from Andre with raised eyebrows and pulled the passenger door open to sit down, holding his pack on his lap.

Paul got in the front. "Sometimes, I want to give your Benefactor a clip around the ear. For a genius, he is incredibly idiotic sometimes," he said as they pulled away. "He is going to meet us back at the house in an hour and he is going to spend the rest of the day with you. Preparing you."

Seb closed his eyes, not quite watching where they were going. "Yeah. Thanks for twisting his arm to get him to do something he isn't interested in. Appreciate that."

"And thank you for being a contrary little shit," Paul said. "Companions, Benefactors whatever, I can take or leave the whole lot of you, but you're part of MY team now Seb, and I don't let my team get hurt unnecessarily. Think what you like, but sometimes your Benefactor is fucking backwards when it comes to emotional concerns and needs to be belted over the head with it."

"Hadn't noticed." He was still chewing on the inside of his mouth. "This is unnecessary. I could've caught a cab. You should be back there with the team."

"They are going out. That's fine," he said. "This is important to you, and for once in his life, Mycroft needs to think of something else aside from the national security." He was driving aggressively. "If I were a Benefactor.." he glanced in the mirror a moment and cut himself off.

He probably would've already snapped Seb's neck and been done with it, Seb supposed. Well, he would've been in for a fight. "Andre guessed that I'm a companion. And supposed that you're my benefactor. So so much for going incognito, because I'm apparently showing every tell or trigger that he's ever seen..." And Mycroft either wasn't known as a Benefactor, or... Or. Seb didn't know, because Sherlock was one, and the whole fucking Holmes family were. It wasn't like it was hide-able.

"We will have to discuss that with Mycroft after all of this," Paul replied. "I would be proud to have you as a Companion if I were a Benefactor. I get you need to vent your frustration somewhere Seb, and if it helps that's all to the good, but you need to work with me if you want to crack Mycroft."

"He's not going to change." Seb leaned his head back against the headrest. "He's never. I." Fuck. How to explain it? The wedding analogy was a bit strange, he knew, and he just didn't like talking about it at all. Never-mind trying metaphors. "He's going to stay late at that meeting and we both know it."

"Not unless he wants my resignation on his desk, he won't," Paul said. "I'm going to do everything I can Seb, and the best I can do is give you every opportunity you can have to give things a go."

He shook his head a little, watching the scenery through the windshield. "I don't think this is worth resigning over. I'll get my shit together." He brushed a little more dirt off the side of his neck. "I just. Lost it when it sounded like he was ordering you to..." Seb waved his hand slightly. He still felt hotly miserable.

"Yeah, I get it," Paul said. "I know how much this means to you guys. Look, I'd never let you go into any situation unprepared, but the first option is always the best case scenario."

"In this case, I'd rather handle it myself than have it delegated like I'm not even standing there." He swallowed, pressing down his reactions. "Apparently he got the imperious part of benefactor training down."

"It's a Holmes trait. His brother can be worse," Paul replied.

"I'll have to warn John." It wasn't at all funny, imagining worse than that. John deserved better than being dismissed out of hand.

"Your Companion friend? When you meet Sherlock you'll get a better idea about it. It's an experience, certainly," Paul said. "When we get back, you prepare yourself and you'll need food as well."

"Right." He felt better for a little space to calm down, always did. Because Mycroft wasn't coming back in a timely manner, but he was all right with it.

Seb headed up the stairs ahead of Paul, and Paul lagged back enough that Seb slipped off to his room in quiet. He had his own bathroom, which was a pleasant luxury that he'd been enjoying. A nice big tub, shower. Three hours to get himself comfortable with what was going to happen. He started to strip off, leaving dirty clothes on the floor while he filled the tub with hot water.

He was really just being a self-centered prick. Paul was trying to help and his team-mates just didn't seem to bloody care except that he could do the job, and the job was fun. The job was excellent. And Mycroft just... wasn't involved on that level with him, and he never was going to be, and he needed to get himself to come around to it. Never-mind that all the fucking mental pep talks in the world hadn't helped. "And, they won't help," Seb murmured to himself. He grabbed a bar of soap before he stepped into water that was hot enough to make him stop with one foot in the water, skin tingling as it adjusted to the temperature. He'd be an excellent lobster by the time he was done. 

He intended to be clean and well presented for his presentation. And he needed to work on himself to make sure he was stretched enough as well.

Seb took his time in the bath, drained it, rinsed the mud ring out, and then stood under the shower just in case, because he was going to be publicly naked. He needed to be clean and over-exposed at the same time. 

The shaving himself was the maddening part. He had a fresh pack of disposables and a can of shaving crème that was going to die a horrible death, filled the bathroom sink with hot water, and let himself drip dry onto the floor while he started to carefully take the hair off of his chest. That part of it was just annoying, like he needed to look like a damned teenager whose balls had barely dropped when he was that fucking old. And to think there were people who did that regularly, for *fun*.

It wasn't a pleasant experience, but it had to be done. 

"Hey, Seb? You nearly done in there?" Paul called out.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." Three dead razors were in the sink, and he was very carefully tidying up around his cock, fingers pressed to keep the skin taut while he edged a straight line. He wasn't going to go completely bare there, no way. "Why?"

There was a pause and Paul said. "Well... pretty much what you said earlier."

Seb exhaled, tilted his head to look up at the ceiling. Right. Right. He dropped the last razor in the sink, and wrapped a towel tightly around his hips, stopping for a moment to dab blood off of his stomach with his thumb. He was never shaving his whole body again. It was going to chafe like hell coming back in. "Yeah. Brand and the opener are already at the council house, or...?" He supposed he'd probably not be presented on time, either. The Benefactor had to be present, even if they didn't participate except to see. 

"Mycroft has them with him," Paul said entering the room. "Shit, I'm sorry Seb, I really am. I thought he would really do it this time."

"Yeah, I know." Paul had been angry, and he really had been yelling at Mycroft, then. Apparently even the man's head of security couldn't twist his arm to get him to do something he didn't want to do. He managed to control his facial expressions, or at least it felt like he was. "We'll meet him at the council at 7. And he'll show up or not. Just don't leave me there."

"He'll show," Paul said. "But if he didn't for whatever reason, you are one of mine okay? You're too good to be left."

"I'm a fucking pain in the ass is what I am." Seb cocked an eyebrow at Paul as he walked past him to sit on the edge of his bed, He'd set a towel out on it, and the big bottle of oil that he was supposed to use liberally, everywhere. He shouldn't have even bothered. "This is a stupid question, but you don't have any sex toys, do you?"

"As if by magic," Paul said. "I kinda thought you'd need something. You done this before?" He proffered a small bag.

"No." He reached to take the bag, standing up again and making sure the towel was in place. "This is as close as a male companion ever gets to a wedding night. Remaining a virgin is tantamount. Anything else, and, well, we had a girl who was raped doing an internship. And her Benefactor said no, thanks, I'll just start over. He's a prick, but that's how it goes. Sometimes something happens and they make it disappear."

"Look, I get you want to do this alone but...it's not easy the first time on you own," Paul said. 

He swallowed three, four different responses. But a smart-assed one managed to find its way out of his mouth. "Why, is the dildo going to find my magical ass hymen and it'll hurt too much to get past it?" He was almost smiling, though. Almost.

"Smart arse," Paul quipped back. "Look it feels...weird. To start with."

"So you're offering to help me out. Because I'm on your team." He glanced sideways, at the clock beside the bed. Plenty of time, still, and he'd set an alarm for 6pm. Not that he'd needed to, apparently. "And because you're Mycroft's proxy."

"Because I like you and don't want this screwed up for you," Paul said. "Up to you though. I'll back off if you want."

"Let be honest, sir -- it's already screwed up. You're standing in a companion's room with a bag of sex toys while my Benefactor's in a meeting somewhere. And he's *all right* with this. I... fuck it. Fuck it. I can't fix this." So he might as well pull the trigger, deploy the charge.

Lean forward, grab Paul by one shoulder and kiss him.

Paul was a good kisser, maybe not as skilled as John but he wasn't really meant to know that. He steadied him and slowed him down, igniting some of the frustration and need in him that had been desperate for an outlet.

He should've been tangled up with his Benefactor the whole week leading up to presentation. Should've, hadn't been, couldn't even get an hour beforehand, and he was going to be angry about it for ages. Seb relaxed the deathgrip on his shoulder, pulled at him, took a step backwards to the bed. It felt good to be kissing again, even with all of his muscles screaming at him, and when had Paul cleaned the mud off of himself? Huh, he'd gotten cleaned up for going out again, too, because Seb could smell the same soap on him that he was using. Like hotel soap, it just showed up. 

"Easy," Paul said in a murmur. "Easy Seb. You need to relax as much as you can."

He wished John was there. If John was there, it would've been all right and it wouldn't have been funny at all, just fucking sad and it would've been all right to be sad. And he didn't need Paul, he could finger his own fucking ass, but he was tired of feeling like he was standing on a limb while sawing it off a tree. 

Seb exhaled against Paul's cheek, sitting on the bed and pulling Paul with him. "I'm relaxed. Christ."

He stroked his skin. "Give me the oil a sec, and I'll just work it in to your skin and ass."

Paul's hand lingered at his side as Seb stretched out rather reluctantly onto his stomach, reaching a hand above him to grab the oil bottle off of the bedside table. He was looking at Paul over his shoulder, though, half twisted around. "You're going to get it on your clothes."

"I'll be changing again," Paul said softly. "And...I've got to remind myself to not get too carried away. You are... perfect." He smoothed a hand over his back and ass and then took the oil.

Seb exhaled, more of a shiver than a breath, and shifted to pillow his head on his arms. Yeah, perfect. If he was perfect, he would've already gotten over Mycroft, or he would've managed to sublimate his sexuality for his Benefactor, *or* he would've managed to turn the man around and get him interested. He was zero for three there, and barely managing to push those thoughts down so he could enjoy hands on his skin. "So I guess that answers the question of which way you go."

"Both," Paul replied with a shrug starting work on his back first, with strong powerful hands. "I admit I was pissed at the suggestion Mycroft made until I saw you."

Huh. So it really was a big setup. That was how Mycroft wanted it to go. If he was the crying sort, that, that right there, would've done it, being offered sight unseen to the staff before he even Went Home. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax by slow measures because even after all the obstacle course running, Paul's hands felt good on muscles that were howling bloody murder at him *for* the obstacle course running. And the low crawls, particularly the low crawls. "What suggestion was that?"

"That if you needed a physical… contact," Paul stopped a moment. "It doesn't sound good in any context and I know I was bloody insulted at the time. Just like you have been...it's Mycroft's way, he sees a need, he provides a solution without thought to what that solution means." He knew where to press and knead and it hurt but in a good way.

He kept his eyes closed, cheek pillowed on his folded arms while he listened to Paul talk. Paul hit a spot mid back that made him grimace, exhale when it popped a little. "No, it really doesn't sound good in any context. It's very neat and tidy, though, isn't it? No chance of me accidentally giving away state secrets, no chance of me making a poor choice and ending up injured or blackmailed..." It was tidy and logical, and horrible, made worse for the fact that there they were. Doing exactly what Mycroft had expected.

And it didn't actually feel bad at all. 

"Pretty much," Paul said honestly and bluntly and he appreciated that. "His solutions tend to be that way. For your sake I wish he wasn't as emotionally distant, but that's who he is. Brilliant but not demonstrative. You're going to have to watch your back there Seb." His fingers were moving downwards and it gave him a bit of a strange almost excited feeling in a weird way.

"Mmhm. John swore my back is a natural selection failure." He exhaled, felt Paul's fingers slide along his spine to the small of his back, pressing there with his thumbs. It wasn't like he didn't know where it was all headed. He knew. It was headed a pretty obvious direction, and his body knew, apparently, because he stretched his legs a little, as much of a relaxed splay as he could manage with Paul sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. 

"You like that then?" Paul sounded amused as he moved his fingers and damn it, it stirred something. 

"Hmm." He shifted a leg a little, pushing his ass back against Paul's fingers. It was starting to feel better, more than just interesting. "Uhm."

"It's different in reality," More pressure and the feeling of something inside and then another finger and pushed in. Something bigger and that felt different.

"Feels all right. You know, we did get classes on all of this. Lots of theory..." He wanted a little more than just slick pressure, he wanted to see what it really felt like.

"How is that feeling?" Paul asked. "Believe me you don't want it in there un stretched."

Yeah, that was an interesting feeling. He inhaled, focused on the one, two fingers? Smoothly applied pressure, and slick. "Huh."

His fingers were rubbing smoothly down his crack and over his hole. "Mm." The fingers were dipping in carefully, a little pressure pushing in.

Probably wasn't going to happen, seeing John a lot. "Go on." It wasn't his benefactor touching him, wouldn't ever be. That wasn't Paul's fault, but he kept defending Mycroft, rationalizing for some daft reason.

There was a long silence there. "I hope you get to see him, Sherlock and Mycroft argue a fair amount." The oil was trickling down the crack in his ass. "I'm going to be touching you there soon."

"He's going Home to Sherlock. We shared a grueling schedule and a room, and we were friends before we were chosen." He focused on how that felt, Paul's fingers lingering against his skin, the intimacy of it.

He shifted again, eyes closed a little as he tried to dig for a response. "Uh-huh, feels interesting." He felt the fingers twist, curling smoothly and partially pulling out before pushing back in. "Yeah, that."

"Mm, believe me a cock feels a lot bigger," Paul said sounding amused. "I've got a butt-plug that should help."

He turned his head, still not quite looking at Paul, eyes closed. "That sounds much less interesting than what you're doing now."

"Mmhmm, believe me it'll be interesting by the time we get to that point." He was sliding the fingers in and out slowly.

Too slowly, but he could pretend to be patient. He opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder at Paul briefly. "You could get undressed..."

"I could but I would be very tempted to do things I shouldn't do," Paul murmured. there was a moment where he withdrew and slipped off his top.

Seb kept looking, leaned up onto his elbows to get a better view. Paul was a good looking man, no questioning that, a functional type of fitness. No wonder it'd been like fighting an eel trying to subdue him. "Says who?"

"Says me. Gotta watch yourself," he said and the fingers were back, slipping a sliding.

It wasn't startling, but it was a return to sensation that made him groan, trying to get a knee under him while Paul knelt on the bed again. "Christ. You can honestly say that when you're, you're doing that?"

"It's nothing to what I want to do," Paul said in a low growl. "I want to fuck you...hard..."

There was something visceral about the way he said it. Half threat, half promise, and Seb dropped his head between his shoulders for a moment, exhaling in a pant as Paul's fingers twisted, turning again. "Jesus, right, let's save that for when I won't be under inspection..."

"If you want to..." Paul said. "That feeling okay because you're going to have to stretch more now I've got fingers in there." He'd heard the sensations described meticulously, but nothing had quite conveyed the full feeling, the intensity of emotions it brought up and feelings. Seb wasn't really into navel gazing but he was sure if Companion were allowed sex before they went home, they'd never complete their intensive training. They'd be too busy practicing sexual techniques.

He shifted, shaking his head for a moment. There was a hand on his back, and fingers in his ass, and it wasn't his Benefactor, it was his team-leader, and he really needed to stop thinking. "No, I..." He shifted, rocking away from Paul a little, pushing up a little. "Get down here, I can't do this passive kneel here and take it shit." 

"Then don't," Paul replied shifting on the bed with him. "You want to do something, lets do it. All except cross that line because there's no way in hell I could be restrained enough that it wouldn't show."

There was a thrill to being desired like that, and Seb wanted that, almost wanted it to spite Mycroft and rub his nose in the fact he was so desirable others wanted him. The thing of it was that Mycroft didn't care, didn't care at all. Had *planned* it to go that way. There was a brief loss of contact, of penetration. but Paul's fingers lingered on his ass while he shifted to sprawl over top of Paul, kissing him again. "I like this position better. You'll have to tell me when we've crossed a line." 

"This is probably trampling all over it as we speak," Paul murmured looking up at him. His eyes were very dark, dilated with desire. "We're meant to be preparing you… and not leaving marks..."

"We can keep preparing me," Seb offered. He gave a shift of his hips that rubbed his half-erection against the crotch of Paul's pants. "And keep not leaving marks." 

Paul smirked up at him. "You wait... there's a lot I'm going to show you," he promised and his hands were reaching around him again.

He liked having Paul under him better than pillows and sheets under him. The slide of fingers back into his ass made him groan, pushing back as he ducked his head in to Paul's shoulder to muffle his noises. "Fuck that feels good."

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Paul murmured in his ear. "It feels incredible when it something hot and hard thrusting inside of you. Feels so goddam big you're going to split apart."

He exhaled hard, eyes half-closed. "How many fingers are we up to? I didn't see how big the opener was..." But he wanted more, he wanted Paul, fuck the need to cover bruises, he'd broken a lot of rules. He had one arm braced against the bed beside Paul's head, the other folded under him, along Paul's side, fingers awkwardly spread against Paul's warm skin, knees on either side of the man's hips. Didn't get more intimate than that, unless he got rid of Paul's pants.

"Mmm. Three," Paul was reaching around. "Shit, I need...ah, there's the bag. You're ready to have something else in you now, and I want to see if I can find your prostate. You think this feels good, wait until I hit that." 

Bigger than fingers, because they were pulling out slowly, leaving him achingly empty again. He dropped his hips down against Paul with a groan, turned his head to press his mouth against the man's neck. That was nice, intimacy. That was really nice feeling. He shifted his hand a little, sneaking it down to Paul's belt.

He didn't fight him, didn't stop him and then the dildo was pushing in. Fuck. It was pressing everywhere, deep inside, and moving then.

"Hnnn." Fuck, fuck, fuck. He held still, fingers faltering for a moment before he managed to slip the belt loose, still balanced on knees and one arm. Seb was pretty sure his arm was shaking, and he tilted his hips a little when it seemed to move back out of him. it didn't hurt, just stretched, burned? Ached, ached in a way that made his balls throb, that made him want to stay perfectly still and want more at the same time. "How big is that?"

"About the size of the opener," Paul murmured. "Only they don't stretch you. That can hurt like fuck." The angle changed a little. "The hunt for the missing prostate....lets see what happened here.."

It got another shuddery exhalation out of him, and he kept holding himself still as the sensation washed over him. "Oh, god. Oh. Do that again." It wasn't a request, so much as a demand.

Paul chuckled, something low and deep, "What this?" and this time it was harder, more forceful so holding still was difficult.

He swallowed a gasp, and pressed back just to get a little more of that feeling, and then rocked forward, grinding down against Paul even as his fingers fumbled the zipper. Seb felt his leg shaking, incredulous as he tried to get a little more. Just a little more.

“Yeah, fuck yourself against me now I'm moving it," and the rhythmic push and pull was almost too much. It pushed the feeling higher, more intense so it nearly took his breath away.

Seb ended up pulling his arm in closer, and it felt like he was crowded against Paul, comfortably close as he ground into him and gave up on getting his pants open. It was a running wild sensation, something he couldn't quite control, Paul pushing at the toy in his ass, pulling it back out, working him over with it while he ground and rubbed and thrust, cock leaking, aching, almost enough sensation, almost there. Just a little more. "Please, fuck, please..."

He could feel Paul’s own trapped erection, as he ground against him. The final straw was one sharp slap on the ass that manage to jolt him and send a surge of adrenalin and something through his body that finally ignited the moment.

He clenched down tighter around the dildo, kept grinding against Paul even as he came, arm shaking and he was sure it was from the day's repeated sheer fucking climbs and low crawls. Nothing to do with the slap, nothing at all. He went a little limp on top of Paul, still barely on his knees.

Paul stroked down his back and skin, heat radiating off of him. "Yeah, that was good," he murmured, not seeming to mind the mess on his clothes.

"Yeah." He pressed a kiss against Paul's neck, feeling lazy and languid for a companion who still had a dildo in their ass. Whatever else he got up to after the Presentation, he was pretty sure it was going to pale in comparison. Or, that Mycroft would dodge it entirely, like he'd dodged that. There was avoidance and then there was.... carefully setting something up.

"Mm," he murmured. "Beautiful...You should see yourself. You are going to be stunning at your Presentation."

"Yeah, big deal." With the least interested Benefactor in the history of benefactors. Still, he wasn't going to discount that, right there. Paul felt very good, and it wasn't what it was supposed to be, but it was something.

* * *

Seb was mostly sure than there had never been a guiltier companion brought to the council House's grand steps, accompanied by his Benefactor's head of security, his heavily decorated robes pulled tightly around himself. It didn't do him much good, given that all he wore beneath it was a posing pouch and his nerves.

Because what if Mycroft didn't show?

It was worse because on the other side of the complex, the place was a bustle of activity with the other companions who were going to be presented, the benefactors and companions who'd come out to witness the spectacle.

The secluded nature of his Presentation made it seem like he had done something criminal, or shameful. Over there it was light and glitter, pomp and circumstance, and he was ushered off into a private chamber, along with Paul, a chamber he recognized to be the usual place for adjudications and legal matters. It made him nervy and rattled, even if he could see the equipment there.

There was a sense of pride and showing off over there, and there was just. Mycroft, not even there yet. He looked sideways at Paul, before he said, "I think I saw an art-house film like this once."

Paul smiled a little. "Yeah, it's a bit surreal isn't it?" he said. "These private presentations do happen though, more than you would think. Mycroft attends a few himself — usually Benefactors who don't want it known they have a vulnerable target directly linked to them who will be effectively very good leverage, or those cases with issues."

Or both. He wondered if he sort of fell as both. "And with that goes, what, false ID cards, companion not living in the house with you, false identities..." Circumventing of the system. Hopefully they didn't all end badly like the movies did. 

Seb was about to add something else when the door opened again. 

A small group of Benefactors entered, dressed in their full regalia, one of whom Seb recognized from John's pictures. Sherlock Holmes, the younger brother. He was good looking and not quite as tall, but his eyes were bright and sharp and he looked very impatient with the whole business. He took one look at Paul and raised his eyebrows. "Ah, I see," he said as he glanced at Seb.

The worst thing of it was that, according to John, he probably saw exactly everything. Seb's mouth compressed into a tight line, watching Sherlock, and still no sign of Mycroft, which made for an awkward moment. At least in Seb's head. Maybe for the rest of them it was perfectly fine and normal, because Gregson at least seemed relaxed. And he shouldn't have fallen quiet, but he had. It was habit, not talking in front of Benefactors, particularly not in the Council building with his own probably stuck in traffic somewhere, or standing outside on his cell phone.

"Your brother will be with us shortly," Paul said. "I was not sure you would be attending Sherlock." 

Very familiar. Perhaps Sherlock had been around more. "Me? Miss my brother's second nearest encounter with intimacy?" Sherlock smirked. "I think not. Besides, John has told me all about Sebastian...I like to see something for myself."

Seb felt his jaw clench more than he meant to. "You're lucky I have to be nice to you here."

"Oh please, social conventions are for the small mind," Sherlock replied. "And I know you don't have one of those. John practically drools over your academic abilities."

He arched an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Yeah, well, it's not a damned performance art, is it? And I'd guess you have similar intimacy problems as your brother, so maybe you should step out of your glass house before you start throwing stones."

Sherlock actually smirked at him. "Careful, your frustration is showing. Hello Mycroft...You finally turned up?"

"I am on time," Mycroft said as he entered the chamber. 

To the second, Seb supposed as he flexed his hands, letting his clutch on his robe relax since Mycroft was there. Finally. Maybe they were going to get started, then. The sooner he could get it over with...

"Thank you, Benefactor Mycroft. If I could have the brand symbols and the Opener..." The leader of them stepped out from where he'd been quietly part of the group.

Mycroft very solemnly presented an inlaid box to the presiding Benefactor, along with the selected brand which was past to the designated brander of the evening. "Excellent. I believe all parties here understand the important of a Presentation, regardless of circumstances. Companions are an asset to their Benefactor. For many, a companion fills those spaces where their benefactor lacks and provides support. It is a duty and an honor to serve so; likewise, a Benefactor must never abuse that freely given trust, and must support their companion as well." He glanced to the small kiln where the brand was being heated, which told Seb it was speech to buy a little time. "With that in mind, I present Sebastian to the wider Benefactor Community and to Benefactor Mycroft Holmes, a dedicated individual whose purity has been assured."

Assuredly out the window, Seb agreed in his head as he shrugged off his robe, and stepped forward at the small gesture the presider gave. It seemed they were going for short and simple. They'd be out in the parking lot while the rest of the festivities were still gearing up. He couldn't help but watch Mycroft as the presiding Benefactor spoke.

"In accordance with ages old tradition, the first claiming of the Companion will be through the Benefactor Family line or implement. The Family Opener has been supplied, and a brand has been selected," the Presenter was continuing. Mycroft was watching him closely, but it was Paul who murmured "Bend over and don't lift your head, and then find a focus point for the brand. Don't hold your breath. We'll be here," before gently ushering him to the front of the room. He knew what to do, they all knew what to do. They were brought up on it, indoctrinated with the protocols.

"The Companion must be opened in the sight of the Community to ensure honour has not been sullied and a false gift given."

Seb stepped up, took a deep breath before he stood there briefly before bending over. He kept his hands folded behind his back, because really, what the fuck was he supposed to do with them? Brace them on his legs? He focused on breathing normally, and there was a brief pause before he felt a hand press lightly against his back. There wasn't any preparing for it, the firm press of a dildo into his ass. Paul had left him just a little slick, but not enough. Nothing was enough, as it moved into him fast, deep, and then then pulled out. He didn't mean to gasp.

It just happened, and then the intrusion was gone, and the stretched pain wasn't, lingering while the man stepped back from him. Done and over with, and he wasn't sure whether fast was better or worse.

"You will need to spread your legs," the Benefactor presented said. "So we can gain access to the preferred site."

He complied without nodding, picking a spot out in the distance of his vision as he settled into the awkward position. He could smell the heat as the brand was brought towards him. Then it was on to the branding area, next to the portable kiln where the Holmes family brand was no doubt white hot by now. 

It pressed and held, and it probably only took seconds, but the pain was breathtaking, stunning on the heels of the first pain, and it left him breathless when it was pulled away. It seemed that he seemed to focus on Sherlock of all people, even as the shocking unbelievable pain and sizzle of red hot metal meeting flesh fill his awareness. Holy fuck that was agony.

He was shaky as he was told to stand and surprisingly it was Mycroft who was there assisting him on one side, and Paul on the other.

"Good lad," Paul murmured in his ear.

"That's it, just over here," Mycroft said sounding much more human than he was used to.

He swallowed, still focused on walking, as they led him off to the side, towards a chair, and fuck, right, ID card. Why wait until someone was focused and not in pain to take an ID when they could get a really spectacular photo of him all staggered. He blinked hard, eyes damp at the edges as he sat down in the chair.

"That's good," Paul murmured and Mycroft actually used his handkerchief to mop the sweat from his brow.

Unexpected. It was oddly unexpected, the contact, and he wanted more. He wanted a benefactor who was just a little normal, but he was sore and agonizing and a little reluctant to move his leg as he looked up and the camera flash went off.

Well, that was going to make him look like a crazed loon. 

"And the name for the Companion records?" the officiating member asked.

"Sebastian Holmes," Mycroft said still holding his arm.

He blinked again, squinting at Mycroft because when the hell had that started? There had to be schemes within schemes for that, but he let it go, leaning into Mycroft a little and looking sideways at Paul. He was probably going to be juggling five, fifteen different identities, and they needed to work out what to do about Andre. 

It all left Seb feeling a little out of sorts. "All right."

There were quick making the ID even as Sherlock came in close. "Congratulations, blah, blah, blah," he said. "Well done. First one not to scream in the last 8 years."

"I like the blah blah blah. Classy." Seb swallowed, focusing as tilted his head back to stare up at Sherlock briefly. He really wanted a robe just then. He wasn't even sure where the damn shiny failure of a jockstrap had gone after he'd been 'presented'.

Gregson was settling the heavy presentation cloak around him. It covered a multitude of sins. "Yes well, that was a compliment," Sherlock said. "You were at least not boring."

"I'm glad I didn't bore you." Seb looked over to Mycroft when he said it, glancing between the two brothers who were... Were alike, but not quite, not exactly, though he could see why Paul said they fought. With the robe wrapped around himself just then, he started to stand up. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, we will return home shortly," Mycroft said and Paul was discretely supporting him, which was just as well as his legs were wobbly, which was undignified. 

He hated being injured, and the fact that it had been inflicted on him in such a simple way was almost more annoying than the pain and discomfort. The inside of his leg was going to be painful for ages, and as it was it was uncomfortably hot. Seared skin, what else did he expect from that. "Good meeting you, Sherlock. I'll have to mention it to John." 

Once he figured out what to say and not say to his friend, in the larger picture. "I'm sure you will," Sherlock said and smirked at his brother. "Enjoy Mycroft, if you can."

"Oh, do grow up Sherlock," Mycroft said with a familiar sounding exasperation in his voice. His and John's teachers and tutors had used that often over the years. "Paul, help Sebastian to the car."

"You're not running away this time," Seb murmured as he passed Mycroft with Paul's help. He wasn't going to let him, they were at least, if nothing else, going to *talk* about the situation he'd been set up into and had been very admirably accepting of if he did say so himself.

"I never run," Mycroft said in a low voice. "It would be beneath me." From Mycroft that was almost a joke and all the more surprising for the fact there had been no hint of humour from the man up to that point.

"C'mon, I've got something to put on the burn that will help," Paul said. "He'll be along shortly, we're not going anywhere until he gets in the car."

"Good." He was rather pleased with how composed and normal he was.sounding, or at least. How normal he felt he sounded. Every step was an agony, but some day, something could go wrong on the job that would be a hundred times worse.

Paul was helping him and he was ushered discretely outside even as most of the Benefactors there then went on to join the main event. He had been right; over and done with before the others even started.

"You okay there?" Paul murmured in a low voice as they moved slowly.

"Yeah, I'm all right. It's done and over." And they'd go home and life... life would continue. Life would carry on. He still needed to work out what to do with Andre and the rest of them, but. He finally had a bloody ID card, which was one less thing to worry about.

"I've got some good shit that numbs it a bit," he said as the car pulled up. Other security checked it out on Paul's behalf, and he popped the door.

It was bizarre that there was so much security involved in their lives, and Seb wasn’t sure he was ever going to become accustomed to it. He was feeling a little drifting and a little disconnected, because yeah. It hadn't been what he'd expected. All in all, just painful and anticlimactic, but over.

Once they were in the car, Paul found out a package and fished out some ointment. "This should take some of the pain out of it," he said looking at him. "Do you want me to...?"

He laughed, tiredly, leaning his head back against the headrest as he reached for it. "Nah, I'm not feeling that helpless and pathetic. But thanks." Staring at the freshly burned skin was a little bizarre and distracting, if he was honest.

The mark was sharp and livid, scarlet surrounded by puffy skin. "Your other IDs will have a better picture," Paul pointed out as they waited.

"I figured I'd get other ones," Seb murmured, pressing a little of the ointment liberally on top of the burn. "Though I wasn't sure what I'd end up with for a last name."

"He does care," Paul said in a low voice. "It's just he expresses how he cares in ways you would not necessary see as caring."

Seb wiped some of the excess ointment off on his leg, and leaned back, still focused on breathing, mostly. "Yeah. I think we're going to have to work on that a bit. A heads up now and then would be excellent."

"Mmm, well I don't know everything about him but, I can tell you what I know," Paul promised even as the car door was opened and rather surprisingly, Mycroft got in with them.

"I apologize for that, I had to show my face," Mycroft said.

There was room in the back -- it was built for that, built for movement and transporting what Seb thought of as high value targets. Seb shifted over a little, looking at Mycroft. "I'm sorry about this afternoon."

"I owe you an apology," Mycroft said. "But the meeting really was unavoidable. Now you are my Companion you have clearance at a level of my own. I can now tell you there was a national crisis that required an intervention."

"Do you need to go back?" Minor governmental official with a black ops team or five, his ass. Seb focused on watching Mycroft's face, trying to pick up tells, other things he needed to learn. He felt oddly behind the curve on that, but it did explain why he hadn't seen Mycroft for the better part of the week.

"No, it was resolved this afternoon," he said. "Hence my absence. It was not planned to go on as long as it did, but there was an opportunity and it needed to be taken immediately to work."

And he'd taken a break in his schedule to see his companion survive the obstacle course. It was oddly guilt inducing, at least briefly, as Seb sat there, sprawled loosely and trying to not focus on the discomfort. Wasn't a bad life at all, sitting in the back of a car between two good looking geniuses. "Can I ask what it was?"

"An ally lost track of a weapon of mass destruction, " he said. "We had confirmation that a terrorist group had a solid intention to acquire it for deployment against us. I had tracked it to a specific area in Eastern Europe and I had a team there. At the confirmation earlier, I saw an opportunity...we had to monitor the operation as they retrieved the weapon."

The edge of Seb's mouth twitched up a little. "One of the sorts of teams you've had Paul train up were tracking this thing?" That sounded awesome, to be on the ground, really... Really helping, really useful.

"Yes," Mycroft nodded. "It was unfortunate that the timing coincided with you Coming Home. I had intended to spend more time with you as I am aware I am not an easy person to deal with."

Seb looked sideways at Paul, who was looking just. Just faintly smug around the edges. It wasn't anything overt, but it was there. And then he glanced up to the ceiling. "You're doing an excellent job of making me feel guilty."

Mycroft looked honestly surprised. "Why would you feel guilty?" he asked with a frown. "You were not privy to any of this information. From your perspective, as Paul rightly pointed out, my behavior was abominable."

And it had been. Seb licked his bottom lip. "It was. I, uh..." He didn't know. He was probably hot tempered and emotional enough for both of them, but it still made him feel like a bit of a heel. He'd been seconds from beating his locker in because Mycroft had pissed him off so badly that afternoon. "Would you like to try and start over?"

"That would most likely be a very good option for us both," Mycroft said and very carefully put a hand resting lightly on his arm. "I am not rejecting you Sebastian, I won't reject you, but I am aware of my shortcomings as regards the physical and emotional needs of those I am close to. I hope to find an arrangement that will fulfill all of us."

He glanced over at Paul and his faintly smug expression, and then back to Mycroft, and then back to Paul before quietly declaring, "That was as subtle as a sledgehammer."

"Well, it would appear my more subtle hints have been misconstrued," Mycroft said with a faint smile.

"There were more subtle hints? Completely missed them," Seb agreed. He sounded and felt more relaxed, though, and now he felt a little freer than he had the last time he'd been in a car with Mycroft and all of five seconds from trying to put a cigarette out in the man's hair. He turned his hand, rested his fingers against Mycroft's thigh. Paul's leg was pressed comfortably against his as well, and there was no subtlety there. 

"Let us just say that Paul has a more highly developed sex drive than I do," Mycroft said sounding comparatively mellow. "I was not exaggerating that."

No, not at all. Paul's sex drive felt fantastic, and he'd only had the threat of it that far. He stretched his fingers a little on the top of Mycroft's thigh, felt a muscle twitch. "You can still be intimate with someone without sex."

"Yes, apparently I can," Mycroft agreed. "Though I am a student of human nature and you cannot be celibate "

"No, probably not. Don't think it would work long term." The edges of his mouth tilted up, because if what he suspected was going on, it left him wondering a little how Paul had managed. It did explain how Paul understood quite so… bluntly that Mycroft wasn't the fucking someone into the bed sort, but.

"So, Paul is willing it would appear," Mycroft said "And I will attempt to provide alternative forms of intimacy."

He wondered how that worked. What that would be. But for the moment, he closed his eyes, tracking the feeling of the road grading. Felt like almost home. "Okay. So it's just... not interested, not...? I'm curious what it feels like?"

"I am not impotent," Mycroft said honestly. "But I find much of the sexual act un-arousing. That is the simplest way to put it. It is not a driving force in my life."

He could guess as much, and it wasn't a question of if he'd ever been with someone who really excelled at it, because Paul was. Yeah. "What do you find arousing?"

"Mental stimulation," Mycroft answered and this was more like it, his Benefactor was talking with him, sharing with him.

He shifted his leg, leaned it against Paul's a little more as he pressed. "So a decent chess game is, what, sort of dull foreplay?"

Mycroft actually chuckled. "Not a metaphor I would have initial considered but..."

"Very apt," Paul said with a faint smirk.

He felt the car pull to a stop before he could really formulate a witty response to either of them. "So how... I'm still trying to grasp how this works."

"Let us go inside and we will...discuss it further," Mycroft said. It was quiet, getting out of the car, getting into the house. He tracked the movement of the rest of the security team, Paul at his other side, Mycroft taking the lead a little as they started up the stairs. He felt every step when the muscles beneath the burn moved, searing discomfort, though he was sure his instinct to put a dressing on it and abandon it for a few weeks wouldn't actually help.

He noticed how Paul, even seemingly casual and not part of the security detail, instinctively did things like stand in a guarding position to them both and open doors for them. But eventually they were left to it in one of the more private rooms of the house.

Never-mind that Seb tended to think of most of the place as intensely 'private'. It looked like a sitting space -- couple of sofas, a bar to the side, books. Books books and books. Part of Mycroft's rooms, possibly, because it fit there in the map in his head. There was a desk in the corner, rather traditional looking. Seb started to shrug out of heavy robe, because it was at least warmer in the house.

"These are my rooms," Mycroft said. "They are yours too, you will have access to them and the bedroom as you wish… just as Paul does. "

He folded the robe over his arm, looking over his shoulder at Paul. The room was worn in, so Mycroft used it quite a bit; the sofa cushions had seen better days, but they weren't to the point where Seb was sure he'd be comfortable sitting bare assed naked on them without an invitation. He just looked, taking it all in quietly.

"Paul, would you..?" Mycroft looked at him and Paul nodded back moving into the bedroom to fetch something.

"We will maintain your own room as well. I believe it is valuable to have your own private space, and there may be occasions where I will be working late and you need sleep. "

They had different jobs, after all. Seb nodded, because that was logical, that made sense, but the distance was still oddly unsettling. Getting better, but it tweaked something somewhere in his training and he didn't know what it was tweaking. He wouldn't have been that good at normal companion shit, anyway, and it was easier to just shrug it off and wander closer to Mycroft, watching his expression. "You were right about the work, of course. It's great. I'm looking forward to really getting my feet under me with it."

"Careful now," Paul murmured. "You're a few steps ahead of us after all."

That was true enough, they both still had clothes on and that was a situation that needed to change. "And whose fault is that?" That was the easy part, though -- easing back a little to push Mycroft's jacket off of his shoulders, his expensive benefactor getup. 

"This is one of those things that is a Mycroft thing," Paul murmured to him. "He thinks I will leave him for lack of hot sex, and that you will be miserable for lack of hot sex. He sees a logical solution so he gets to keep both of us."

"All right. Just... Wanted to check on that." Some benefactors would've been horribly offended.

"I think I'd be more miserable for not knowing what's going on. Not that hot sex is a downside..." He lifted eyebrows at Mycroft. "This afternoon had its appeal."

"Paul informed me of his temptation," Mycroft replied. "If you are not too sore we shall adjourn to the bedroom.” With the bottle of brandy no doubt.

He took another sip of his drink, and stood up with Paul right at his side. "Temptation, was it?"

"To go further than we agreed," Paul said. "He knows about the rest. I promised not to fuck you senseless. " He grinned . "Can't promise that now."

"Why did we bother with a robe again?" He turned his head, pressed his mouth against Paul's neck.

"Because Mycroft thought you looked uncomfortable," Paul said. "Looks like it's a vote for the bedroom."

"Mm, I can see that," Mycroft replied. "Very well."

They started towards the second door, and Seb pulled away from Paul a little to lean into Mycroft. Just... Just a kiss, just to *try*.

He didn't flinch, or pull away, but the kiss was not igniting in the way that kissing Paul had been. It was...comfortable and warm but not hot. Still, not bad. Seb made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, pulling faintly with teeth at Mycroft's bottom lip. There was something to be said for warm and comfortable, and he was easy to lean into. Mycroft felt softer against him than Paul did, as he backed him towards the bed.

So it wasn't that he wasn't responsive, that it reviled him. They finally got into the bed, and he pressed a hand against Mycroft's stomach, up on his knees as Paul joined them. It was as if Mycroft just ran tepid as opposed to hot. He was muted but attentive and watched him carefully as if memorizing his every move.

It was easier that way. He looked over his shoulder at Paul, watched him shrugging out of his suit, tried to make it clear that he was more than welcome. Paul apparently didn't need much of an invitation to started getting naked and for the first time he could see the full extent of marks of combat all over the man, untold stories etched deep into flesh. Mycroft on the other hand was clean, and unmarked a contrast to Paul.

Softer and slighter than Paul definitely, reminding him a little of John, though John's had a Companion's curves and adherence to good diet. This was his training here, how to disrobe his Benefactor, how to lure him to bed, how to make the most of whatever he would give him to work with. And slotting Paul into the role of partner, relationship to his Benefactor, that was a lot more palatable than being handed off to an employee. He was trained for that too.

Soft compared to muscled as well. Being caught between the two of them felt very good, once they were both naked, even if Mycroft's responses were more muted.

The adrenalin was muting the pain of his brand and he felt more settled, more content than he had since he had Come Home. Paul touched him constantly, but he had to touch Mycroft to get any sort of response. 

Maybe he was. It meant he had to think it through quite a bit more, do things that felt good at a slow burn rather than rampaging on. Seb leaned in, balanced on knees and one hand, moving down to rest on an elbow, pressing kisses along the line of Mycroft's neck, just below his ear. His fingers bumped into Paul's on their way across Mycroft's chest, and he gave a breath of a laugh. "I should probably follow your lead here."

Paul huffed a laugh. "Mycroft doesn't like to not be in control, but also he's very lazy about it," he said. "If you wait for Mycroft to lead, you'll still be waiting next week. He'll tell you if you are doing it wrong."

"Yes thank you Paul," Mycroft replied.

He smiled against Mycroft's neck, fingers sliding over a nipple exploring-ly. "You have to have preferences."

"That's where the take it or leave it part of sex comes into it," Paul said in a whisper. "I spend a lot of time trying to find things that might turn him on."

"I am not a mechanical device to be turn on and off at will," Mycroft said. "Just continue what you were doing Sebastian."

"Hmn." A challenge then. Seb closed his eyes, and shifted, turning his fingers a little, a lazy tweaking motion as he gently bit at the side of Mycroft's neck, down to his collarbone."You taste good."

"I am glad you think so," Mycroft said politely much to Paul's apparent amusement. 

"Seb, just enjoy the moment," he advised nuzzling Seb himself.

That answered the question of where Paul was. Droll wasn't bad, it was just funny, and maybe better to not provoke it just then He didn't stop, though, kissing, spots, his attention lingering where he could feel the occasional shift in Mycroft's heartbeat, a suggestion of motion. Paul was distracting, though, in all the good ways, when he kissed a spot just below Seb's shoulder-blade. "Oh god."

"I feel I should be marking these spots," Paul murmured. 

"Do that again to him," Mycroft said suddenly and it was such a surprise to hear an active request that Paul really went to town on that spot.

Seb gave a quiet shaky laugh, and swallowed the moan that the attention pulled up. He dropped a little, arm partially buckling. "Didn't expect that..." In a good way, with Paul's hands lingering on his hips. "Hnh."

It seemed that there was a little bit more response from Mycroft as if observing them was doing more for him than the direct stimulation. "Keep looking for more of his sensitive areas."

And Paul had nearly worked him into volunteering to be fucked before his actual presentation. It didn't take much effort, Paul's hand sliding from his hip at the side to his stomach, low at the top of his leg. He groaned, faltering in trying to kiss his way across Mycroft's chest. 

"Well well Mycroft," Paul murmured. "Are we uncovering a small kink here? That you like to watch?"

It made an odd form of sense. "It is… stimulating," Mycroft admitted.

Excellent. He could work with that, but it didn't stop him from trying to pay attention to his Benefactor while Paul grinned against his back. The only problem was that he couldn't quite pay enough attention to both of them.

That didn't seem to be stopping Paul. "Relax," he murmured. "You don't have to work so hard at it. This is a good sign." He leaned around to kiss him on the lips and there was that surge of physical want that had been lacking in Mycroft's kiss.

Bloody amazing, and he groaned against Paul's mouth, twisting a little, while they both straddled Mycroft. He started to let go a little, relax a little more, just as Mycroft's hand came up to rest lightly on his back. 

That was… good. Gentle somehow but something he needed as a tacit permission that this was okay, kissing another man was okay. Companions were meant to be monogamous, faithful to their partners wishes but sometimes that might mean sharing, particularly with the Benefactor’s partner.

That hand was smoothing over skin gently and carefully even as Paul was more insistent. It eased back some of the unsettled feeling he hadn't been able to shake, and when Paul urged him back onto his back on the bed, and Mycroft leaned up on one arm a little to get a better view, it still felt perfectly all right. "Hmm, next time we reverse this..."

"You like being on top?" Paul asked, very careful and gentle but his hands had that strength he had begun to appreciate it.

"I wouldn't know, would I?" Seb cocked an eyebrow at him, shifting and stretching his shoulders a little as he bent his left knee to press it against Paul's side. "I know this afternoon felt very good..."

"Mm, well tonight you'll get the real thing," Paul said. "But from Mycroft...first at least." Considering Paul was already hard against him and Mycroft was showing only signs of half arousal that would be interesting.

"Paul is insistent," Mycroft said. "I suspect he likes to watch too."

"I can see the appeal." He would've enjoyed watching Paul and Mycroft, all long limbs, soft contrasting to muscle. He didn't really have a good visualization of himself in the mix, but he was pretty sure he'd already associated Paul and Mycroft like that in daydreams. He ran his hand down Mycroft's stomach, lingering just at the edge of his cock.

"Hold on," Paul murmured, shifting to fumble for something that turned out to be lube over the edge of the bed. "Here, some for you, and some for me...get you both warmed up."

Seb leaned a little, pressed a kiss to the edge of Mycroft's mouth when he reached with his other hand for the lube Paul had. It was slick on his fingers and cool, and he could feel Paul smoothing down his ass crack and teasing with his fingers. He exhaled in a huff of breath, turned his head again to kiss Mycroft while he wrapped his own hand slowly around Mycroft's dick. Lifting his hips off of the bed to give Paul easier access got him more contact, fingers doing more than teasing.

They were pushing inside of him, moving gently, not shocking like the push of the Opener. With the way he was being nuzzled it was very erotic.

Lazy, and comfortable, not quite the urgent need to be fucked he'd had earlier, but tempered a little, muted down by mixed sensations and still trying to work out how best to get his benefactor past half aroused. "Uhm. Much better than the opener..."

"Well, they do literally just thrust it in," Mycroft replied. "For the girls they have to prove virginity..."

"Mycroft," Paul almost growled. "Not the time for a lecture on traditions."

"Perhaps not.." Mycroft acknowledged.

"Also, not very erotic," Seb agreed, mouth twitching a little as Paul's fingers -- two again, it felt like -- twisted just so, making it hard to keep his hips up.

"For you maybe," Mycroft murmured, accepting the touch on his cock, looking directly at him.

"In practice, not at all. It was breathtakingly painful." And now Paul was being insistent and gentle and working him back up to enjoying the intrusion. He didn't look away from Mycroft, but he did kiss him again, shifting in closer. "So, explain to me why they do it to boys."

"It is a symbolic taking of virginity," Mycroft said. "Historical records tell us that the first Companions were actually taken by their Benefactors at Presentation but the drinking and feasting meant that it was often difficult for them to perform in public."

"Never-mind performance anxiety," Seb murmured, hips dropping a little when Paul kissed between his shoulder-blades. That felt so good, enough sensation to make his dick throb. In his hand, Mycroft's was finally starting to firm up. "When did they get so bloody weird looking?"

"Over the years, the normal sort of status symbols. Only the richest and successful of the family lines could afford metal ones, and then molded metals, or etches and bejeweled. There is legend of an Indian based Opener made from a single diamond." Mycroft said as Paul’s fingers were beginning the maddening thrust in and out.

Seb closed his eyes more out of reflex that time, exhaling in a whine as he rocked back to Paul's fingers, cheek pressed against Mycroft's chest. "Sounds extravagant and painful..." He'd hardly looked at the Holmes family opener, but he'd definitely felt the thing. "Please...."

"Not yet, not until Mycroft is ready," Paul said teasingly. "I'll just have to keep doing this until he says so."

"Uhmn." If he'd been a girl, Paul's fingers would've been swimming. He was pretty sure his dick was leaking, and Mycroft wasn't quite there yet, which was frustrating. "Hold on, I want to..." At least try and suck his Benefactor off, even if a glance up at his face was more amused than hot and bothered. He'd take amusement.

"Go ahead," Paul said and leaned over him to kiss Mycroft.

Paul's fingers pulled out for a moment, which was a relief. It was interesting to move in between them, to be that comfortable and casually close to them both. Paul's hip brushed his shoulder as when he leaned on his elbows to casually lick the head of Mycroft's cock.

The lube tasted a little like mint.

“That looks pretty fucking good," Paul murmured. "God, Yeah."

"Mmm." Ages of training in practicum was sitting there, waiting to kick in. He took his time, because there wasn't a sense of urgency, licking up the underside of Mycroft's dick, lingering around the crown, focused on what he was doing and breathing his Benefactor in before he started to see how much much he could take in his mouth at once.

It was gradually hardening as he did so and that was something no theory could demonstrate, no matter how sophisticated. Paul was adding fingers to his ass, filling him even more.

Two sensations to focus on, Paul's fingers stretching his ass as he tried to stay focused on taking Mycroft in all the way. All the way was the feeling of his cockhead against the back of his throat, barely not gagging and careful with his teeth as he swallowed. Seb wanted to ask just how many fingers that was, but he wasn't really in talking condition.

"Stop," Mycroft said, his hands reaching his hair and pulling him off carefully. "I am ready, are you?"

"Yeah." He lifted his hand up, wiped at the edges of his mouth with the sides of his fingers. "How..." His dick was leaking, and he was pretty sure it wouldn't take much after Paul going to town on him.

"On top of him," Paul guided him. "You know how to do that?"

He ought to know, he had to know.

More for Mycroft to see, and Seb could see the appeal. He shifted up, kneeling over Mycroft's hips carefully. Paul had his hands between them, and he could feel the distinct difference between fingers and cock when Mycroft was just faintly pressed against him. Much better than a sex toy, warmer to start. "I think I've got it figured out."

"Take it easy," Paul murmured in his ear, moving behind him to help support him. He'd nearly forgotten his leg, even if the numbing shit worked well enough, but Paul hadn't.

Once he was kneeling, though, he felt every inch of it, his leg, the pain of it. There probably wasn't a motion that didn't hurt, wouldn't hurt just then, but he wanted it, and the slow pressure of Mycroft against him, of seeing his face while he pressed in felt good...

Paul, though, managed to get his arms under his legs just to give him a degree of support, lifting him just a little to take the weight off. "Better?"

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't have picked such a bizarrely debilitating location..." But it worked for his day to day work, and it'd be better when it healed. Or at least, that was what he kept telling himself as he kept easing himself down onto Mycroft. 

"Mm," Mycroft finally made a noise of satisfaction. 

"Good lad," Paul murmured, "Easy does it."

A quiet noise of satisfaction, but a noise meant for him. It was oddly thrilling, even as he eased down. "Umh... Jesus."

"Hold it there, get used to it," Paul murmured in his ear. "That's it.." He kissed him on the back of his neck. "Move and lean forward and back until you find your angle."

"Move now," Mycroft said in a strained tone.

His angle. Seb wasn't even sure what angle he needed to look for, but he leaned forward slowly, one of Paul's hands still steadying him as he started to rock up and then back down. "Hnh, I think that's it…"

"If you're not seeing stars, you haven't got it," Paul said, as he seemed to rock with him, pressing against his back.

Not stars yet, no, but it felt fantastic, leaning into Mycroft and fucking himself onto him, slow and steady, until he was mostly sure that everything was his spot, given how good it all ached. Mycroft was actually moving back which had to be some sort of miracle. Fuck, it felt good, really good hands and skin everywhere.

He liked the two sets of attention thing, liked being caught between them. Seb just gave himself up to it, rocking back and forth, counterpoint to Mycroft's thrusts, and then he found his spot or Paul moved him in just the right way, because it changed the tempo, made him want more faster, right there.

One of Paul's arms stayed supporting his branded leg, and then the other was reaching around, slick and warm to grasp his cock and pump it in time with his movements.

“Please, please, fuck, Mycroft..." Just a little more motion, and he'd be there and if Mycroft wasn't he'd keep going, but it felt too good to stop.

He was given a little more thrust and then there was the sensation of a hot rush inside of him as Mycroft came and slowed before he could come himself.

"Paul, I want you to finish him.." Mycroft said with only the barest hint in his voice of exertion.

Seb was sure he whimpered in the back of his throat. Sure if it, half startled, half disappointed until Mycroft said *that* while he was still half sprawled on top of the other man, and thinking about getting up onto his hands rather than his elbows. "Uhn, talk about a tease..."

He was almost literally lifted off of Mycroft, Paul's hands feeling immensely strong in his need. "Promised you a fucking into the mattress.." he growled as he put him into position. "You liked the thought of it then."

Seb gave a laugh, half-startled as he settled into what he was sure was the best position -- leaning on his elbows, ass in the air, up on his knees because that felt steady, right beside Mycroft. With Paul apparently planning to fuck him when he could still feel Mycroft's semen oozing at his edges.

It felt glorious, and he was rock hard from the thought, the feeling of what was happening, his dick aching and heavy. "Please, Paul..."

This was something visceral and inevitable in the hard push in, the relentless thrust and Paul's gasping groan of need. He was obviously desperate too, and fuck, this wasn't long and drawn out, this was Paul fucking him hard enough he could feel the jolts of pleasure in his bones and his skin felt on fire with it. If Mycroft had been the slowburn, Paul was the petrol thrown on the fire.

There was something to be said for both, but just then he needed that, he needed it to be so hard it startled him, because fuck, Paul was big, and he knew what to *do* with it, hands gripping his hips hard enough that he knew there were going to be bruises afterward. Seb wasn't sure he was still making noise or talking, but he was begging, scrabbling to even stay up on his knees beneath Paul, pushing back hard.

It was shaking him how completely he was being lost to the act and fuck, it was like the stories after all where it was so goddam good he never wanted it to end because it was breaking him to pieces with pleasure and need with every bone shaking thrust until he was helplessly coming with a pleasure so extreme it blotted out everything.

He was vaguely tracking that Paul was pulling out, because it left him feeling sore and stretched open in an interesting way, and that he'd dropped down off his knees and was sprawled flat face down on the matress, with one hand on Mycroft's arm, and Paul was... Paul was getting something, walking off. Bathroom maybe? Seb was fairly sure he could've slept just like that, without even having to move. "Mmhmn, think I'm never doing anything but fucking ever again."

"Then it is as well there are two of us, as otherwise none of us would get anything done," Mycroft said stretching a little. "Most satisfying. Paul likes to clean up before he sleeps. I believe it is a military thing."

Seb murmured vague agreement, turning his head to peer across at Mycroft with a bit of a better view. He looked almost relaxed, a touch of humor around his eyes. Sated was a good word for it. "I should probably get up, hit the loo. But this feels good." Fucked twice in a row, his Benefactor was there, engaged. Not rejecting him. Better than rejecting him, fitting him into a complicated way of coping with life.

"You do that," Mycroft said. "And maybe between the two of us, we'll get Paul to stay in one bed all night. That would be a pleasant novelty indeed."

"Why, where's he go? Back to his own room?” He eased himself up onto his elbows, and started contemplating sliding off of the bed on his stomach to save his leg the most hassle, save the sheets a little.

"Yes, he doesn't like to disturb my rest," Mycroft said. "Mmm." He yawned as Paul returned with a cloth and raised his eyebrows.

"You need cleaning off too?"

"Bathroom. Then I'll be back." He got to his feet a little unsteadily, but comfortably giddy with the whole situation. He made quick work of himself, as much as he could without showering.

By the time he got back Paul was settled in the bed with Mycroft and had insisted on putting more of the numbing ointment on his leg before allowing him to get in with them both. It wasn't really anything he'd pictured, but he didn't know what he'd pictured. It just... was. It was, and he was amazingly lucky to slide into bed with them both after how bad he'd expected it to be.

Seb decided he was probably going to enjoy the arrangement, settling in on Mycroft's other side.

* * *

Two days after his presentation, he headed back into the locker-room feeling much better than he had on Friday. The urge to limp was less, the numbing cream was his new best damn friend, and it had been a good weekend. It'd gotten a bit busier the day before, and he could see something new was boiling. But he could also help out, just. Be there, be present if not useful on the ground because he was still training.

Mycroft seemed to appreciate having a sounding board who could halfway follow what was going on, much to Paul's amusement. And Paul... Paul was a good boss, clearly intent on keeping things professional at work, which was Seb's goal as well. And patient. He wasn't sure if he'd had to put up with himself the past week he would've been half as calm and measured as Paul had been. But the framing was everything, and now that it had all settled into place, Seb was rather sure his attitude was going to change. Getting to see the real, tangible relationship that was already there, getting to just watch Mycroft and start to get a feeling for reading him had been a great way to spend a weekend. He enjoyed his sleep, like he was making up for the times he didn't get any, sprawled comfortably against Paul and Seb both. The other men snored a bit, just a little, but John had snored fucking chainsaws for years and Seb was deaf to the sound except to note the differences, the variances when it faded away to quiet. Sharing a bed, body to body with someone else was... relaxing, exciting at the same time. 

Damn good weekend, all in all. Seb started with his combination lock, and still missed it the first time.

"Hey." Mark appeared behind him, all easy smiles and good looks. "Missed a good night last week. One day we're going to get you out there for a drink."

Might happen now he was confirmed and they were giving Paul as "public" Benefactor, though keeping that discreet. Mycroft had pointed out the observant would know - as Sherlock had seemed to - about their level of intimacy.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I had something I needed to do." He glanced over his shoulder at Mark, and then went back to trying his lock again. Maybe he just needed a new lock. "And I was in a shite mood. Wouldn't have been any fun, anyway. You had a good weekend?" 

"Pretty good," Mark said and grinned. "So, we're doing Laura's Virtual combat training today. I'm not that good with the technology stuff, could be a wipe out."

He pulled the lock and got it to open, putting his pack again. "Yeah, but it's not physical, it's all spacial navigation in the game and communication. You won't even break a sweat." He cocked an eyebrow at Mark. "You'll be fine. Unless it glitches and catches fire or something, and then none of us will see, what with the big huge things covering our eyes." Which was why they had adult supervision. "I think Paul'd film us walking into walls in that kit just for laughs."

"More than likely," Mark opened his locker. "I dread to think what they've come up with. Based on some real scenarios apparently. Wonder if they're Paul's." 

None of the bad ones. Certainly not whatever it was that was the ghost in the room, the one time Mycroft hadn't been in tip top shape and had needed to be. There were inferences Seb could draw there, but he decided he could let it work past inferences with time. They had plenty of time, and it seemed like a sharp sore spot from the brief mention. "Wonder if the exercise controller can keep the realism high enough if they are his. I never did a lot of gaming, either."

"Hell, I did but I don't think that's going to help in this situation," Mark said even as Will rolled in telling some expletive filled story to Andre who seemed to be laughing - and Seb could hardly ever remember him laughing in the previous week. Maybe he was just sombre when he was trying to get a handle on things. 

Maybe the weekend had helped re-set everyone a little. Seb leaned into his locker, fishing out the bits of gear he knew he'd need for the sim -- his binos, a rifle sling, sans gun, and knee and elbow pads. Nothing said good training like preparing for buggered up joints. 

"Hey, you missed a good one on friday, Seb." Will was in his locker in all of three seconds, which left Seb feeling envious. 

"Yeah, Mark said, except I suspect it was all of you sitting around shooting the shit until they rolled the streets up and kicked you out." And he'd probably had a much, much better friday evening. Seb put one foot on the bench, and started to hastily re-tie his boots in advance of the day's activity. Every muscle in his body pulled and complained vaguely, the inside of his leg briefly searing.

"You sure you weren't there?" Andre said dryly. "Anyone seen Cee?" 

"She's probably fucking late as usual," Will complained. 

"Hey, git-head, anyone tell you it was rude to talk behind people's backs?" Cee said coming in. 

"Good point," Will said. "You're fucking late as usual." 

"Yeah, well, not everyone has a convenient ride in with the boss every morning. Some of us have to use the underground." 

Seb tilted his head a little, and just lifted an eyebrow at her as he fastened his right kneepad on. "Hello, who pissed in your coffee this morning?"

"Shh, you weren't meant to tell her," Will said.

"Yeah well, the commutes a bitch, and so am I," Cee said. "Caffrey's in town and I'm stuck here with you guys instead of watching what scam he's trying to pull."

"Ah the arch-nemisis," Andre said nodding wisely.

"You have an arch nemesis?" Seb asked, incredulous as he shifted and put his other foot on the bench to repeat the same motions. "How the hell did you get an arch nemesis? Did you advertise for it in the papers?"

"Comes of being one of the best," Cee replied gearing up swiftly. "You hit the top, and there's only a few to compete with. In the con game, Caffrey is one of those, I was another. Now we're on different sides, he gets to be an arch-nemesis."

"It's true. You compete against those on your level. When you're the best, you get a whole different level of competition," Mark said.

Like people who ran shadowy organizations that you trained your companion up to help you take down. It was intimidating to consider, Seb decided, and better to tuck away in his mind to never contemplate. He adjusted his left kneepad instead, and then straightened up to start putting the rest of the protective gear on. "I'll have to take your word for it just yet. I somehow doubt I'll ever have an arch-nemesis." 

"He can borrow mine," Mark said. "If he's feeling left out. Seb's got the patience for sniping, unlike some I might mention."

"I was designed to be a fucking tank, not sit up in trees, pissing in the wind," Will said even as Paul entered with Laura.

Seb straightened up, pushed his hair back out of his face as he closed his locker. Laura looked positively fucking giddy, which Seb decided probably boded well for their training event for the day. Excellent. There was a lot to be said for a weekend lazing around getting to know his Benefactor and Paul better, but getting closer to being functional on the field was pretty exciting as well. And if he didn't have to trade one for the other, even better. 

"Okay lads and lasses," Paul said. "Technology permitting, and Laura assures me it will, we're going to be running some virtual missions today. The idea is that these are things we can't simulate in the field easily and I will be running most of them, though I've promised Laura one where we'll all play. This is about decision making, strategy and that elusive quality of making a good call under pressure. Take it seriously, because people were in the situation that you will be entering and it was real for them."

There were agreeing murmurs, and Seb slid his hands into his pockets casually as they wandered out to the training floor to start for the day.

By noon, they'd probably spent more time doing after action reviews than actual training, but it was good. Seb's head hurt, and he wasn't sure if he was one of the unlucky folks who had trouble with the screens or not, but it was good. Everyone on the team had weaknesses, and strengths, and one could be the other or the other way around. There'd been a lot of moral qualms faced down, a lot of challenging interactions with local nationals who all, suspiciously, were Paul's or Alan's voice, though in the actual language which Seb appreciated even if his arabic wasn't quite right in the accent arena. 

They were still arguing when they headed down to the Cantina for lunch, so some of the glue holding the gear together could dry. They were arguing over the little girl he'd head-shotted, who'd been carrying an IED towards a diplomatic event, but Seb had mostly tuned it out. He'd seen the right signs, shouting hadn't worked, and he'd made the right call. There was a lot of what-iffing going on, except there wasn't an if, not in that play. He'd been right, he'd done what he needed to do.

He was still pretty sure he could make the shot in real life, too. "Seriously, how did Seb know?" Cee was asking. "He might have been wrong and then..fucking diplomatic disaster!"

"He read the signs," Paul was saying. "They were there."

"What fucking signs," Will said. "I didn't see anything that say, hey, blowing the brains out of an 8 year old if a fucking fantastic idea."

Well, lunch was looking less appetizing by the second. "She had mission focus. She was walking alone. She was carrying the box like it bothered her."

"You have to get your head into the culture," Paul said. “Martyrs' paradise is indoctrinated. It's real to them, even kids. They use the black and white of a child's perception of things and make it rock solid. Kids have heroic fantasies all the time, culture decides the focus."

"Pretty damn thin though," Will said.

"He made the right decision having attempted a verbal intervention," Andre said. "I was suspicious but Seb acted faster. I would have been too late to save the squad."

And that bothered him.

Clearly, that bothered him, but Seb didn't know what to say. "If she was an older woman, or even a teenager, you'd have taken the shot, too, Will. You let the fact that she was eight disarm you." Seb got himself a cup of coffee, and added sugar to it. "It's not like I took glee from it."

"That is the point of this exercise," Paul said. "The real event, the squad was suspicious but acted too late to not sustain injuries as they were in the process of falling back."

"They lived, right?" Laura pressed, a bit quieter in her glee than she'd been earlier. Seb took a seat on the end of the bench, like he had before.

"Yes. Two lost limbs, several others were invalided out with burns damage." Paul said. "The squad was decimated..and the girl died."

"And her body ended up being a water charge?" Seb guessed, taking a sip of his coffee and only just considering his sandwich.

"You got it," Paul nodded.

"Fuck." Will paused in shoveling his food into his mouth, and he could eat for England. "Didn't even think of that."

Seb gave a bland shrug, and curled his hands around his coffee cup for a moment before he reached for his actual food. "And bone shrapnel's nasty, according to videos."

"If the result of this is you look twice in a situation and consider a threat, I'll call that a win," Paul said. "You did better than most though, you made correct assessments in the majority of situations."

"More this afternoon?" Seb asked, tilting his head a little as he ate.

"Oh I get to see what our glorious leader is capable of," Laura said elaborately cracking her knuckles. "Alan and I have been cooking up something special."

"I can't wait," Paul said dryly.

"Sure," Paul said with a shrug. "This could be interesting, and a learning experience for me as well."

"No one expects the Spanish inquisition?" He sat back a bit, cradling his coffee cup against and watching Paul for a bit as he dug through what looked like pretty inedible pasta. He caught Will elbowing Andre, and glanced over at them.

He should have known that Paul wouldn't miss that, even though he seemed distracted. "Got something to say Andre, Will?"

Silence ruled, though Seb wasn't sure it would hold. Andre murmured, "no, not really." But Seb could guess what it was about, so he sighed into his coffee cup before he finished it. He'd been waiting to just rip that particular bandaid off, as well.

"Fine, then I'll say it," Paul said calmly. "Some of you have already guessed that Seb is a Companion. This is true, he is and he is under my protection. This doesn't mean he will get any level of favoritism...more likely the opposite as he has to live up to my standards 24 hours a day and you don't. All of you are here on merit, rather than background or attitude, so remember that if the idea of prejudice enters your minds."

Crickets. Seb set his cup down, and just looked at them, because Damned if he was going to flounce after that. "So, now that we've gotten that awkward moment over with..."

"No wonder you're so fucking good at everything," Will commented with a shrug.

"Like I said, met a few Companion soldiers with their partners. Couldn't ask for better to watch your back," Andre said. "But, you gotta admit Paul, there's a split of focus there."

"Not if the Benefactors orders are for them to follow orders come what may."

And not if the Benefactor was far, far away from the whole area, safe and untouchable. "I don't think there'll be a split of focus. But you'll just have to take my word for it."

Cee shrugged. "Can't see the problem. Seb's hardcore capable, that's what matters. And you know he's not going to be screwing around with the dynamic."

"Thanks. So if you can save the really awkward questions until I'm drunk, I'd really appreciate it." He lifted his eyebrows when he said it.

"I'll think of some for then," Laura said with a smile.

"Okay, finish up, we're heading in for our pre-mission briefing, or lack of it," Paul said.

"Thank god." Seb grinned a little as he stood up, picking up his empty tray. If he was lucky, he could put that shit off for a few days...

* * *

He finally made it out for a drink with the others, partly because Paul was going and that meant he was expected to as well and they were all riding high after their afternoon scenario.

"That has got to be the craziest shit I've ever seen," Mark was saying waving his pint around.

"Paul is a the craziest fucker around," Will declared.

"Still, when it popped its second head out of its mouth through the window, and shot it..." That'd been practically shiver worthy. Paul had survived to the end, and Seb had been rather pleased that he'd only died because one of the scenario doors had glitched and spat him out some hundred feet up. Completely not fair, getting killed by a bug that wasn't a xenomorph-thing that Laura had nicked from aliens and predators.

"At least I went out a hero," Will said gulping back his drink.

"Nah, you were still alive in the mothership having eggs laid on you," Laura said with a smirk. "Forgot to mention that."

"I randomly fell out of the sky. What a horrible useless end," Seb groused, taking a swig of his pint. It was weaker than the pruning he made under their sink, but generally better tasting.

"Mm, yeah that door was meant to drop you into the mothership," Laura said with a shrug. "Sorry. Mind you would have been fun to see you right in the middle of the bad guys."

"I would have at least gone out shooting... Before something laid eggs on me." He gave a dramatic shudder that made Paul's laughter turn louder.

"Hey, I only survived with the improvised bomb because Mark and Seb were covering me," Paul said.

"I'm the Invisible man," Mark replied sounding smug.

"Just how the hell did you do that, by the way?" Seb pressed, taking a swig of his beer.

"Maaaagic...." Mark waggled his fingers at him. "Once we found out the bugs sensed heat signatures I disguised mine. Sniped inside one of the ready bombed buldings, positioned inside fire zones. "

"Nice." Damn, brilliant. Seb took another swig, grinning to himself. "So, what's on tap for tomorrow? Obstacle course Hell?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Paul said. "Hand to hand and training."

"Rock on!" Will beamed. "Finally some of my sort of thing."

Cee groaned. "You're going to kill me."

"Training, not beat-down," Seb pointed out. "Will's probably going to kick my ass, too."

"Will kicks everyone's ass at training," Laura moaned. "Fit bastard. Jesus."

"Yeah that's the point," Paul reminded them. "Everyone has different strength, we're cross training to make a very adaptable flexible team."

"Hey, I'm flexible," Cee protested, smirking a little at Andre. "Very flexible."

"Still could improve in some of the combat skills," Andre replied.

"Yeah, and I don't think I'm anywhere near up to snuff on being a conman."

"I suck at it," Will said gloomily. "But a solo raid, I'm your man."

"All of you have potential to expand your already impressive skills," Paul said. "And that gives you an edge."

"On whatever else is out there." He inclined his head. "Also, is this three cups of tea, but with beer?"

"Yeah," Paul grinned. "Fuck. Crap beer at that. We have some pretty intensive training coming up."

"Good." Andre said it, finishing off his third pint. "We're only at this whole process for another six months. Then, it's real."

"Yeah." Paul nodded. "And you'll be the best damn squad out there." He sounded utterly confident.

They had to be. They had to be, or people would die, and those people would be on the team. And supporting them. Seb took a sip of his lager, and grinned. "Then let's not let you down.”

That earned him an affectionate tousle on the head and a look in Paul’s eye that boded well for the evening, even as the other raise a glass in a mock toast to that sentiment. So he joined in, raising his glass and laughing when Will added, "to not fucking up!" And was echoed firmly by the rest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you think I'm soft and warm, you should tell that to the Headmistress," John said with a smile. Maybe he could get to be a surgeon after all. He hadn't frozen up or anything.
> 
> Jim gave a laugh. "I think if I tell that to the headmistress, she'll take a hit squad out on me. No, no, you have a personality there under all of that politeness. And you just had your hands in that fellow's chest like it was nothing. I'm pleased." He knocked the door open with his hip. Yeah, there was just no way the man wasn't a Companion himself.

* * *

John knew the other interns were looking at him wondering what the hell he was taking to keep going like he was. The fact was he had practically all of his life with a schedule that matched the grueling life of a young doctor, and it wasn't the shock to the system to him it was to the others. 

It was comfortable, and after two weeks, it had gotten *really* comfortable. He was getting a feel for the hospital, he'd done all of the awkward checking in things, he was part of the rotation. He missed having a room-mate when he went home. He missed having Sebastian to talk to and commiserate with, he missed having a friend he could just. Exist along side of, because half of the other interns felt like they wanted to play politics but weren't sure why. There was an awful lot of sniping going on, as if one person getting through it would somehow compromise the others. They were all practicing residents -- why was the atmosphere like that?  
 More and more he ended up excluded from the usual intern drinks and gravitated to a small select few of his compatriots. Mick O'Callaghan delighted in putting on as much of the Irish charm as he could and was a favorite with a lot of the female patients with the sort of looks that had them swooning. There was Jasbinder, or Jas as she liked to be known who had her sights on cracking into a surgical residency and Tom, who seemed serious but could be relied on for dry sarcasm that was all the funnier for coming out so dead pan. He had no idea how they categorized him. His Companion status had to be declared, and the fact he only had the name John on his ID badge was a bit of a giveaway really.

John. John of nothing. John the companion, not quite a person, and some days he felt it. He was just tired, and he was only a couple of weeks in. Tom, Jas and Mick didn't seem bothered by that fact. He just sort of fell in with them.

"Hello."

"Hey," Mick said. "We get assigned area's today and attending the registrars and consultants. God only knows where they'll put us."  "Wards probably," Jas said gloomily. "They don't give Foundation year 1 surgical consultants to follow."  "Got to be a registrar to get in there," John added. He shrugged a little. "At least we'll get to do some independent doctoring."

At least a little. It felt almost triumphant, because there he was. He was a doctor. Starting out, but he'd made it. Companions hardly ever ended up doctors, but it was a triumph he couldn't really share.

"Still, depends where we end up," Tom pointed out with a shrug. "A&E?"

"I like the idea of A&E," John said as they waited. He had secret ambitions to do surgery and the odds of a Companion doing that...well, he wasn't sure if they had ever done that. He kept it to himself unlike Jas who couldn't seem to open her mouth without mentioning it.

 "It is a place to get amazing experience," Jas said. "And you are likely to get to do actual procedures. I'm not sure they put junior doctors in there straight off. Haven't they got a visiting consultant in at the moment?"

"Yeah. Can't remember his name," Mick murmured. "Vilseck? Vindeck? Something like that."   "Well, we'll find out." Tom shrugged it, giving the door an evil look. And maybe that look was enough, because it finally opened.

"Ah, our final few," Dr Dowler said coming in, one of department heads. "Now, we don't usually do this but the three of you will be assigned to our A&E for your first rotation. As we have a visiting specialist registrar we have the manpower to deal with having some junior doctors on the ground floor, and A&E can always use help and is a good place for practical experience. You three have the best performance statistics so you are being put forward."

Unbelievable. John almost wasn't sure he'd heard that right, because A&E as his first rotation? That was high risk, high payoff if he didn't fuck it up, and he needed to not fuck it up if he wanted to go surgical. He needed it. Jas's grin almost split her face.  "We go down right now?" She was halfway out of her chair as she asked that.

"I'll take you down," he replied and smiled. "You do realize that A&E has a very high rate of time wasting, and drink related injuries. It's not all drama. However, all of you expressed an interest in surgery, and it is the point where triage surgery takes place. It's a good lead in to separate out those who can hold their nerve in life and death situations."

 John resolved that he would hold his nerve come what may. "Thank you sir," he said automatically.  "Good, good, let see if our specialist registrar is ready for you. He'll probably put you on a Rota to cover the day."

There was a general sharing of grins and delighted expressions as they headed for the door, falling in. He didn't care much what part of the Rota he fell in on, as long as he was *there*, learning. The fact that the registrar was good enough to saddle with three formationals, or at least interested enough, boded well for all of them.

A&E was pretty quiet at this time of day - it was the evenings that it usually kicked off and John was half anticipating it, even as they were introduced to their soon to be mentor. He was half relieved to find it was not yet another person who towered over him. He was a little taller than him, with sharp dark eyes and Irish lilt in his voice.

"Dr. James Vallelly. You can call me Jim, if you like." His eyes were ringed with dark circles, but he looked well-kept beneath his white coat. He held his hand out to John first, the contact firm and quick, his fingers a little cold against John's skin before he moved on to Mick and Jas as well. "Look at all of you, bright eyed, chipper and sleep deprived to the last man. I promise to take good care of them, Dr. Dowler."

"You do that Dr Vallelly, these are some of our most promising young doctors," the older man said. "You know where I am if you need help."

John took that to be, if they screwed up and the hospital regretted ever putting them there.

"Oh yes. Yes, I do. I don't think that will be necessary." He smiled, looking at them again. "I suppose I'll divvy you all up..."  

John supposed it was inevitable that they would spread them out over the various shifts. He didn't mind which he got because they were likely to get swapped around as time went on. Jas on the other hand immediately launched in with her pitch for the prime surgery slots.

"I don't mind doing evenings," she said immediately. "I would relish the opportunity to see you in action."

He pulled a funny face, eyebrows quirked at interesting angles. "Yes, well. I hope this works more as an opportunity for all of you to see some action rather than just stand around and watch me. We'll do a quick walkthrough, and then sit down and talk a moment, all right?"

John just nodded. Companion training told him to appraise new situations and people and weigh it up before launching into reaction. He'd been better at that part than Seb ever had been.

They were shown around the department, talked through the protocols, the boards, how it was going to work, how they would be likely given the minor issues to start with, weed out the over anxious, sew up and stitch contusion and order x-rays and diagnostic tests before involving Dr Jim as he started referring to himself. He memorised the whole thing.

The layout, the spiel, where he'd find the equipment he'd need to start with those stitches and contusions. He still hadn't divvied up the shifts, but he did take the time to introduce all of them to the nurses.

"There's no better ally to you than a nurse," Dr. Jim intoned as he looked at them.

It was obvious that Nurse Webb was the unofficial leader of the A&E to John's eye. Older, probably in her 50's she sat with an aura of competency, that even though there was technically a manager above her, younger and better qualified and called Lisa, she was the frontline stalwart. There were quite a few of the nurses, and more who would come on shift but John made a mental note to get to know Nurse Webb. Tom on the other hand was eyeing up the rather admittedly gorgeous looking Nurse Cooper who was young, blonde and bubbly.

Probably not the best choice long term, but still, John could see where he was headed. So John plotted and planned his way through the tour and introductions. There was a lot to learn from Nurses, after-all, and he'd rather learn than flirt. 

And then they stopped where the assignment rosters were posted. "I understand that you want evenings. All of you."

"I'm assuming that's the shift you'll be on Dr Vallelly," Jas said. "And the one with most opportunity for surgical work."

"It's not just about the surgery, it's a busy time," Tom added. "It's the best time to get experience."

John shrugged. "I would suspect that Dr Jim will most likely rotate us through all time slots so I don't mind who gets what to start with," he said mildly.

"Ah, the bright one." Dr. Jim's eyes were bright. "You're right, and you'll be starting in evenings. Well, nights. Nights." He pointed at Tom. "Days." And then Jas. "And afternoons."

That earned him a glare from Jas, and an amused look from Tom. He beamed. "Thank you," he said. "I appreciate the opportunity."

"Atta boy. So polite." He clasped John's shoulder briefly. "So, shifts start tomorrow if you want to take today to lurk around and get used to the rhythm of the place. I may need a hand or two if anything interesting comes up."

None of them were going to budge out of there, John knew that. It wouldn't be lurking it would be sticking to the Registrar and other doctors like glue.

And Dr. Jim seemed almost faintly discomfited, or maybe too-aware that he was being followed and eyed by the three of them. John would've been a bit self-conscious as well, and it didn't help that the afternoon was being particularly slow.

Still it gave them opportunity for that one on one chat Dr Jim had suggested. He was a bit nervous of talking to someone in authority, and was waiting for the Companion issue to be brought up.

He was sure it was coming. It had to be, it was generally always there, had been through all of his years. The sooner he got it over with, the better.

"Go on, lean against a table, and take a breather, John." He waved a hand in inviting gesture for John where they were waiting for the next interesting thing.

"Thanks," he said grabbing a coffee. "It's been interesting so far."

"You made it this far. It's not like you're going to crap out now," Dr. Jim offered encouragingly. "You're all just balls of nerves and compressed rage and anxiety. It's fascinating, and I'm rather glad that the psych folks keep to themselves for this period."

"Well, it's pretty much make or break time," John said. "Being proper doctors." He smiled again.

Jim was prepping his own coffee, shoulders hunched in a little. "Your Benefactor encourages this, then? Well, he must, but it's still rare to see."

"I uh, I haven't been presented yet, but yes, my Benefactor has encouraged me in the medical line," he replied. "It is very kind of him."

It was, though John was sure Sherlock had his own reasons.

Jim snorted, and leaned back, adding sugar to his coffee. "Oh yes, perfectly altruistic, nothing in it for him. Except that he'll be collecting your salary until you're dead, as well as having sex with you. No, perfectly terribly kind of him." Jim pulled a bit of a face.

"I'm a Companion," John replied. "That's the deal. That's what I want." That's what they all wanted, that security, that purpose and focus. He wanted it all just as keenly as Seb had.

Jim gave him a dubious expression, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "Well, I'll spare you the discussion on socialization and we can just assume that I've lodged my protests against your system a few times to little end. You see a lot come through A&E, and you'll see Companions. And battered wives. And battered children. And battered husbands, and it's all the same story."

"You disagree with the Companion and Benefactor system?" he asked wanting to know if Dr Jim was prejudiced against him.

He waved his free hand in a loose gesture. "You're a brilliant person in your own right, and you would be if someone weren't paying to put you through school so you'd be their very smart pet sex toy doctor. I understand the constrictions you're working within, and maybe your benefactor is an honestly decent person. I promise to not slip running away literature in your locker." He looked up for a moment. "Well, not for the first few months, at least. Just... you don't have to toe the party line in your *head* just because you go back to the center at the end of your shift."

"I don't intend to be a ...slave," John answered. He wasn't cut out for that, never would be and if Sherlock expected someone forced to do things he wouldn't get it. But he was loyal and fiercely protective, so they told him and he couldn't deny that part of him.

"No, no one intends to be. You have this picture in your head of what you're heading off, and whether you're pleased or not pleased with it, it's not going to be the reality." It was all striking a bit too close to home, a bit too well-read. Dr. Jim leaned against the counter, watching a couple of people walk by the open break room door. "So, be a proper doctor. Focus on that."

"I intend to be," he said sincerely. "I really want to be a doctor and...Maybe more." He didn't dare voice it at this early stage.

Dr. Jim's mouth quirked a bit. "Oh, go on. Surgeon? Head of Surgery some day? Dean...?"

John laughed. "Okay, it's a daydream but I think I declared I wanted to be surgeon when I was about six. I didn't know then that Companions didn't become surgeons, and I'm stubborn enough to hold on to the idea."

"Who said they don't? In fact, there was a companion who headed up the London medical college back in the 60s. His benefactor was a lord, flighty playwright, but by all accounts a tolerable human being."

"You know a great deal about Companion history," he said smiling politely. "Most people don't know anything about us."

"When someone tells me I have a companion coming under my wing, I read up on it a little." He tilted his head slightly, watching John as he cupped his coffee cup in both hands, low and no-where near taking a sip, like Seb did when he was thinking.

"That's a lot of research for a short time," John replied watching him back. Sharp, intelligent with something like the gleam he recognized in Sherlock's eyes. "You must be very focused to take on that information so easily."

"You'd be surprised how many books there are on companions. And websites! My god, the information one can sift out of all of the pornography." He lifted his eyebrows at John. "You don't have anything to worry about from me. Just try to not accidentally submit when there're benefactors in the room. It sort of gives the whole thing away. I read you'll probably grow out of it when you're older."

John couldn't help laughing. "Maybe I'm an exception but I don't have the urge to drop to my knees for everyone." He had the training but he controlled it - medical training had required him to develop a strong core to his personality.

"Good. That has to be the most *bizarre* thing you all do." He glanced up, at movement in the hallway. "And, I think we have incoming."

"Right..." Oh god, action time. Adrenalin kicked in, and the world seemed sharper and clearer as a result.

He wondered if it was the same way for the more experienced doctors, if they still reacted like that. Dr. Jim stepped forward -- first name only, yeah, he'd ponder that later -- abandoning his coffee cup on the counter. The crush of emergency personnel were rattling off stats on the patient, recounting the car accident.

He watched as Dr Jim took charge, trying to anticipate what he might need from him. The man moved like lightning, identifying broken bones by sight and experience even as he ordered x-rays. 

"Dr John," he said as he calmly worked through as slick an examination as he had ever seen. "Do you see the unevenness in chest movement?"

"Yes sir," he said automatically. "Left side is moving unevenly. Indicating a flail chest or uh... fluid in the lung or pneumothorax."

"Wasn't asking you a pop quiz," Dr Jim said. "I was pointing it out so you could do something about it. Nurse, we need a chest drain here."

There wasn't time to kick himself -- it wasn't school anymore and no one wanted an explanation of what he was doing. They wanted him to *do*. Dr. Jim seemed unflapped. "Symptoms first, diagnosis, really annoyingly intricate diagnosis and tidying up later, thank you."

He nodded, taking the equipment and preparing to do his first actual emergency procedure. Finding the right spot even though breathing was becoming more laboured, running with it, cutting in, inserting the tube and seeing bloody fluid start to drain. He almost couldn't believe he had managed it just like that and the feeling swept him away getting him moving to help Dr Jim, even as the others loitered not sure how to be helpful.

"There we go. Now, quick Glasgow coma scale..." He was telling John to do it, but the patient was moaning even if he wasn't entirely coherent.

"Somewhere around 10," John said doing a mental catalogue of the spontaneously opening eyes, the disorientation, and appropriate pain response to what Dr Jim was doing. 10 maybe 11, no immediate sign of more than concussion. 

"Excellent. Now, pain meds, no pain meds...?" Baiting John into a response while he moved to check the man's stomach, fingers touching his chest briefly before moving on.

"Not until he's stabilized, especially with compromised respiratory system," John said. The man was not technically conscious. They didn't like to do that until they knew what was in his system. He settled the tube in. "Fluid draining, respiratory movement starting to normalise. Fluid is looking bloody, so most likely a broken rib has punctured a lung or torn the plueral sac."

"Which means surgery," Dr. Jim cut in. "Go, get a room, get that ready for us. Nurse, yes, thank you..."

For us, he said for us and John wanted to whoop even with life and death situations going on in the Casualty. He nodded, and headed off briskly heading directly to Nurse Webb rather than dithering around, who took some of the calls herself and directed him to make others. Getting the anesthetist on call, getting a room set up, making sure there was a bed on the ward or in ICU. Things that were a part of the process, which he had not really thought of. He was suitably grateful to Nurse Webb as he headed back after a creditably short period of time with the news they were good to go.

One more thing he had to learn, that he hadn't thought about. He was going to have to get Nurse Webb a thank you card. Maybe a cup of tea. Something useful. He didn't expect to be allowed into surgery -- not to watch, but to work, with the other doctor watching closely, guiding and suggesting things as if he personally didn't know what was going on.

It was amazing, unbelievable in a way and holy crap, okay so it wasn't the most complex procedure in the world but it was proper surgery and he had actually played a part in it. It was amazing and he came out of it exhilarated and excited, and more sure than ever that he wanted to be a surgeon.

"You have a good instinct," Dr. Jim murmured as they scrubbed up afterwards. Back to waiting, back to cuts and broken bones and pneumonias.

"I can't thank you enough for that opportunity," John said looking at him. "It was...incredible."

"Keep doing well, and you'll keep getting them," he shrugged, like it was nothing. But it was everything, it was a huge opportunity to prove he was capable. "It's all on you, after all."

"I won't let you down," John promised. He was still nineteen and he'd just essentially performed surgery. He desperately wanted to let Seb know, talk to him about it, but he couldn't. He'd write to Sherlock about it and probably not get a reply, but still. "I'm sure the others will be just as pleased when it comes to their turn."

"If they seem competent enough, sure." He looked sideways at John, drying off his arms carefully. "You have a lot of sharpness to you."

"Sharpness?" John tilted his head a little even as he wiped himself down and made sure the disposable scrubs were tucked away.

"Sharpness. Oh, you seem soft, warm, nice and polite, but I can see a very capable sharpness underneath of that." Soft and warm weren't two words he usually associated with himself.

"If you think I'm soft and warm, you should tell that to the Headmistress," John said with a smile. Maybe he could get to be a surgeon after all. He hadn't frozen up or anything.

Jim gave a laugh. "I think if I tell that to the headmistress, she'll take a hit squad out on me. No, no, you have a personality there under all of that politeness. And you just had your hands in that fellow's chest like it was nothing. I'm pleased." He knocked the door open with his hip. Yeah, there was just no way the man wasn't a Companion himself.

But he didn't seem to want to acknowledge it and he was sure as hell bitter about the institution. Perhaps he was one of those runaways that he alluded to, made a new life, new identity. That was… slightly disturbing to contemplate. John followed him out, wanting to see how well the others had been coping out front while he had been having some surgical experience.

Jas was doing careful stitches on a boy's shoulder, from what he could see, and Tom was nowhere to be seen. Probably behind one of the curtains. Life carried on while he'd performed surgery. Jim pulled a clipboard from the wall, and then handed it to John. "Go on, take one for yourself. I'll get you if we get another interesting accident."

"Thank you," he said again and glanced down the list taking the one that had been waiting the longest. Only fair he take some of the day to day things after a start like that.

Unbelievable. Completely unbelievable. If even half of his days went that well, that interestingly, he was in for a good time at his first assignment.

* * *

There was a point in their schedules where they synced up with days off, coming off shift and generally John managed to meet up with Jas, Tom and Mick to see how they had gotten on. They'd been doing a week of nights, followed by days, afternoons to evenings then nights again usually overlapping with one of the others on another shift. It was like a conjunction of planets but they made it out to the pub and John delighted in using his "allowance" from Sherlock to splurge out on some junk food - forbidden fruit to companions.

A couple of beers, some sweet things, chips, it was great fun, and even better that their impromptu mentor had made it out to meet up with them. John had already ordered a starting round of junk for the group, and staked out a booth where they could stretch out a little.

Everyone liked Dr Jim. John was pretty sure he referred to himself as just Dr Jim because of his own pet theory about him being an escapee Companion or something, but he was down to earth and could spin a yarn about his own experiences that would have them laughing raucously. Right now though, Mick was regaling them with the unfortunate man who had come in with his phone up his ass earlier on in the week.

"..And I'm asking, how did it get here, and the guy said...I accidentally sat on it." Mick said incredulous. "Accidentally sat on your phone until it disappeared up your anus never to be seen again?"

Dr. Jim was sipping at his beer and nearly giggling. "And did he find it when he got bored of dialing himself?"

"How big was it? Smart phone, nokia candybar..." Jas was making dimensional gestures.

"A bloody Samsung galaxy — those suckers are wide," Mick said gesturing and John nearly choked.

"Did you ask him what the reception was like?" Tom asked seriously in his deadpan way and John nearly lost it at that.

"And I get the woman with the stubbed toe who swore it was broken," Jas moaned. 

"How did you get it out?" Jim asked curiously. "I've dealt with one of the little ones and a patient before, but never a monster like that."

"The mother of all epidurals and...So many goddam gloves and lube, it was like fetishist night down in Soho," Mick replied. "I mean, Jesus, you have to figure that's not going to work early on in the process."

Jim nearly choked on his beer, and sat back in the bench with a smirk. "Did he at least tip you afterwards?"

"No, unless you count the comment that the iPhone is much slicker as a tip," Mick said.

"Technically or uh...” John cracked up midway through the sentence.

Jas had her hand over her eyes as she laughed, near to crying and leaning her shoulder against John's. "How is it that you're on days?"

"Nice to get sensible sleep. It is quieter, though I've had a lot of young mothers in with kids and babies," he said. "Most of the time it's a nasty bug, but had one that turned out to be viral meningitis this week."

Which had been a joy to diagnose. Not that he wanted to diagnose anyone with that, but it was fascinating to get it right. 

"Don't anyone get too comfortable with their rotations, we're switching again next week," Jim warned.

They all groaned theatrically. "That puts me on uh... afternoon to evening?" John said.

"Always fun at the weekend when people seem to lose the ability to stop drinking," Jas said.

"And realise they'd shot themselves in the leg with a nail gun," Jim agreed, placidly smiling and nodding. "Sunday afternoons are the best."

"DIY hell," John said. "Haven't had any chopped of fingers yet, but I have had someone with a chunk of wood that sheared off and then stuck in his thigh. It was about a metre long and he comes in with it sticking out."

"Which is technically the smart thing to do," Jim reminded them. "After all, if you're dumb enough to get a chunk of wood in your leg, then it's a miracle you're smart enough to leave it in because of the possibility of bleeding out."

"Yeah, I told him that," John said. The man had been pleasant enough and felt enough of an idiot from the sounds of it.

"Mmm. I wonder what stupidity soldiers get up to?" Jim leaned his elbow on the table. "I've applied to join the Service. It's getting boring, and I'm nearly done with my required time as a registrar."

"Really?" John asked him. "Out in the warzones?" Where a lot of the Benefactors who didn't end up on desk jobs were. There was a high proportion of pairs out there in the service.

Some just liked the work, and it made sense to drag their companion along with them into that world. "Mmmhm," Jim said agreeably, stealing a chip off of Mick's plate. "You know, new and interesting injuries, panicked triages, helicopters bringing in four and five at a time. It has an appeal."

"If you are an adrenalin junkie," Jas said. "I can deal with the pressure but I would prefer the long intricate operations."

"She wants brain surgery," Tom said. "Although not on herself."

"Are you sure?" Mick smirked. He got kicked at under the table.

"It's not that I'm an adrenaline junkie. I just want a change of… scenery."

"Yeah but going to a war-zone..." Tom seemed actually serious. "Doctors get killed out there...or taken hostage. That happens a lot."

Jim waved a hand dismissively. "I'll be fine. Because I say so, which is a great justification."

Jas snorted, but at least nodded her head. "So you won't be staying with us until we're finished our formation period?"

"I don't think any of the others would have given us the breaks you have," John said feeling a sinking disappointment that all of that might just disappear.

"I wouldn't call them breaks. After all, you haven't killed anyone, which I think is an *excellent* reflection on your capabilities as doctors. I plan on leaving you all fantastic recommendations, and I'll be here for a bit when my replacement comes in. So we'll smooth that." 

The other perked up a little at that. "A good recommendation is worth its weight in gold."

"Yeah especially for our teen doctor here," Mick said. 

"I'm nearly twenty," John protested.

"Teeeeeeen," Jim smirked, finishing off his beer. "God, I'll be stitching together boys no older than you. That's horrifying to consider. Hold on, I'm getting another round." John was oddly disturbed by the thought of Jim going into danger. He wasn't sure why but it was just strange and unsettling somehow.

"Bugger," he said. "We lucked out getting Jim before he left."

"Yeah, we did." Mick craned his head, watching Jim as he chatted with the bartender. "And we've done well. We haven't fucked up, you know? And I know he's been prodding and helping us here and there. At least, he has me."

"Yeah, me too, though not really spelling it out," John said. "He must have high levels of confidence in us to let us do what we do."

"Now we just have to keep proving ourselves," Jas shrugged. "Military. Wow."

Military, like Sherlock. Like a lot of benefactors. There was a whole *lot* to be done out there, and maybe he'd end up out there as well, when he finally went home.

"It's not a bad career path," John said. "For me, it might be the only way I get to be a real surgeon."

"Finish your two years out and then, what, join your benefactor's unit? Be a medic, or...?" Tom leaned forward, and then scooted over while Jim got back into the booth. "They're bringing it out."

"Cool," John said. "I was just saying the military route might not be a bad option for a Companion...like me. I mean, not many hospitals will promote up a Companion Surgeon."

"No, you'll have to fight for every promotion, harder than the rest of them." He made a vague gesture to all of them except John, and then leaned back when their drinks were brought over.

"I guess it depends what Sherlock is going to do," John said as a shrug. "No point making long term plans if he's going to alter things."

Jim made a thoughtful humming noise. "Well, that's true. And a shame."

"It shouldn't be like that," Jas said suddenly. "John is a really good doctor and surgeon. He should have the same opportunities as everyone else."

"Reality isn't like that." Jim cleared his throat, smiling at John. "Anyway, I'm not going to start that argument, because it doesn't *change* anything and it probably makes John uncomfortable, whether he agrees or not. Sort of like someone taking down your parents in front of you."

John smiled a little. "Everyone has issues to struggle against. It's not just Companions who have problems in the workplace."

"Still." Jas frowned tightly. "If--"

"No, probably not best to say that," Jim smiled. "I've seen the argument go around enough times to shush it."

"Besides, stories from A&E front line are much more amusing," John said. "What else have we got?"

It took a moment to gain momentum back in the other direction, but it did take. Jim offered a story first, and then the rest of them stopped talking about his life like it was a facet up for debate. He was going to miss Jim, regardless of his background.

After all, he couldn't judge what had happened, only that for a Companion to run away, they were either "widowed" with no Benefactor to go to, rejected by their benefactor or the treatment was so dire that it was completely intolerable. And as far as John was concerned, all of those were a good reason, if not a comfortable one for him to contemplate. At least Jim was making something of his life.

Something useful, something impactful. John took a sip of his beer, and hoped that one day soon, he'd be just as impactful

* * *

Six o'clock. Six o'clock, and he'd spent the better part of a day with printed out maps, and post-it notes, reading intel charts and getting the next big mission into his head in a proper, well considered way. It didn't make the smaller events go away, though, the pop-ups. Even the big thing they were getting ready for was a pop-up, in a way, an unexpected movement by the criminal group that Mycroft was always trying to strike down. But they could take their time with it.

A fast response could be a bad response, where a measured, careful response was so much better. And he felt good about it, he'd charted the whole thing down a few potential event paths, they had a good feeling of their capabilities, and there he was, putting on a too-good suit and fussing with his neck-tie while Mycroft seemed to be considering the merits of getting out of his chair again now that he'd gotten dressed. 

"I thought you didn't go to these things."

"Occasionally I am required," he said. "Unfortunately to a small few my Benefactor status is at the forefront of their minds. Therefore we have to attend."

Seb exhaled through his nose, straightening his collar. Life... was comfortable. There was comfort to come home to at night, after missions, and after a year, the arrangement Mycroft and Paul and he had didn't seem foreign or anything at all like bucking the training. It probably meant he'd bucked the training but good, really shattered it. "Why is your Benefactor status at the forefront of their minds?"

"Because they make it necessary to have their support of certain influential people to do the job we need to do. Benefactors end up in influential positions," he said by way of reply.

"I'm shocked," Seb deadpanned, checking his phone. Paul was placing the security, and everything was nicely coordinated and tracked right there. He pocketed it again, turning towards Mycroft and his chair. "How do you want me to act?"

"I'd say be yourself but I am afraid I have encouraged you in some scandalous non-companion ways," Mycroft said with a faint smile. "Never the less I don't expect you to be excessively Companion tonight. Just be polite to the Benefactors and look very competent, which you will no doubt do admirably."

He held a hand out to Mycroft to haul him up from the chair if he had to. "Polite I can do. Keep close, or wander?" The rest, the rest was play by ear, which was more of a special skill than the phrase, three short words, actually implied.

"Close to start with," Mycroft replied. "I don't intend us to spend a very long time there this evening unless an opportunity comes up."

He lifted his eyebrows at Mycroft, and smiled wider at the half exasperated look as he finally took Seb's hand and was hauled up. "Totally worth it until the day I throw my back out doing that. Driver's buzzed me twice now waiting. Is this the event of the century or something?"

"It is the government equivalent of the Yuletide ball for Government Benefactors. It is practically the only time we will see some of these people and make connections, so it does tend to be somewhat impressive," Mycroft said starting to head downstairs.

He fell into easy step behind him. He'd popped a piece of caffeinated gum, because there'd been a bit of a row about sleeping the night before and he wasn't really feeling awesomely well rested. Paul slunk out, and Mycroft had woken up and called him on it and then Seb'd joined in for the first time on what was apparently a long-standing argument.

Breakfast had helped mend a few fences between Mycroft and Paul, and Seb had to admit he sided with Mycroft in the No, really, you don't have to go sleep in the other room because you're having shitty sleep discussion. Have shitty sleep and read a book, or something. But stay. Book lights existed for a reason, and Seb was pretty sure he could sleep through a train gunning him down.

Paul had been stoically resolute not to disturb them as Mycroft needed his sleep more than anyone, but finally he got to hear the argument about Mycroft feeling responsible for whatever was causing the nightmares - he still didn't have those details but he could guess. It confirmed his suspicions at least and he'd had to use some of his Companion training to broker a sort of solution where Paul would at least try hanging around rather than disappearing.

It wasn't like it was something that happened often, according to either of them. Seb had maybe watched Paul had a crappy night's sleep or two on missions, so maybe that was it, but he'd been a little preoccupied with watch or generally carrying on to sit down and work through what it was. They'd have to see if it was even an issue that night.

It was something for Seb to turn absently over in his mind as he slid into the car beside Mycroft, and Paul finally joined them.

"We're clear to go," he declared, looking smart in his suit and a little James Bond, as well. "There is bloody layers and layers of security to this thing. The venue has only just been confirmed."

"Well, if you ever wanted to take out the secret shadow government behind half of Europe, this is where I'd start," Seb murmured, glancing out the window for a moment as the car started off.

"And you would be correct," Mycroft said. "Unfortunately to not go would be to effectively renounce participation in the political world."

"It's a nightmare," Paul muttered. "Every time we go to one of these things."

"How many have you gone to...?" He asked it out of curiosity, but watched Paul's face. As long as everyone was going to be miserable *together*, Seb figured he could stand actually being a companion for the night.

"Every year since I've been chief of security. Mycroft thinks I remind people of his position," he said. 

"Benefactors push boundaries when they can, and you are good at looking like you can push right back," Mycroft said.

"Yeah well, my team is going to check their security before we get there. They better hurry up because I don't like you sitting in one spot all the time.”

"I'll keep him moving," Seb promised. It was the least he could do if he couldn't be doing something useful like helping with security in a more official way.

"I'm relying on you," Paul said. "I'll be watching his back, but you'll get to assess people straight on."

"I'll keep an eye on him." It was hard not to, if he was going to be serving as Companion for the night and not, actually, go out of his mind with boredom. He didn't ever really fall into the mindset the way he was supposed to, and it was more of a blessing, Seb supposed, than anything, except. Except for nights like that.

"I am capable of assessing threats," Mycroft said in his pompous tone which made Paul snort.

"As long as they're way out there," Seb said with a gesture out the window. "And half a world away, yeah, you're the best. Up close, though, it's like watching a pink panther movie."

Paul coughed to hide a chuckle. "He's right Mycroft."

"If you have quite finished," Mycroft said. "We might have the dubious honour of being front row seats to whatever societal blunder Sherlock may decide to perpetrate on an unsuspecting world."

Seb grinned at Paul. "As long as the target isn't us... Yeah, that's a thing to see." He generally got angry at Sherlock, rather than rolling with it and playing along like he did most things because Sherlock went right to the bone, sharp and fast and nicked marrow while he was in there. It was a miracle that no one had killed him. It would *be* a miracle that John didn't do it when he got to Come Home.

After the obligatory month where they were not meant to disturb a newly gone home Companion, John had started writing. He'd always been better about that than he was and he'd gotten to hear about a lot of medical stuff he didn't entirely follow, with the palpable sense of John missing him behind it.

It was hard to write back. It was hard to think of things to say, because his work was highly classified and a lot of his home life was quite too bizarre to have possibly be read by the headmistress before passing on to John. So he assured him Mycroft was fine, everything was great, work was awesome, coworkers were funny, and he shared little stories when he could remember to write them down. It left him wondering what palpable senses he was giving John when he wrote, if he could feel that John missed in in his letters.

He hoped he'd understand and when John had Gone Home himself he would be able to talk more frankly, discuss things with him. He was looking forward to that because he was pretty sure that John would end up on the same classification for clearance.

"Okay we're nearly there," Paul said.

Just because of the shit Sherlock got into, from all accounts. Seb sat up a little more, waiting and checking the locations of their men on his phone. It was a bloody handy tool, one that he sorely missed not having when they were in more austere environments. One look, and he had it committed to memory. "Ready."

And they were on the move, working together and Mycroft walking serenely in amongst all of them as they entered the venue. Paul had obviously had the all clear from their own team because there wasn't even a blink of a pause. It was most definitely a dazzling event. Seb had considered himself overdressed but considering how some of the Benefactors had their companions dressed he looked positively restrained.

That was fine. He wasn't a pretty show companion, never would be, and never wanted to be. It was much nicer to feel comparatively comfortable as he walked beside Mycroft. Scanning the crowd, taking it all in, getting a feeling for the patterns of the place as it slowly started to fill with other Benefactors and circling wait-staff.

It was mostly banal small talk, but it was interesting to see how they swirled around Mycroft. For someone so young, Mycroft had a disproportionate amount of power.

And he knew it.

There were people who thought they had power like that, but they didn't. And Mycroft played it lightly, coolly, while Seb mostly stayed quiet at his side. He didn't even have to get a drink, given that the waiters were circling.

"Mycroft Holmes. I see you companion does exist."

"Benefactor Augustus Moran," Mycroft said politely enough, even though Seb could pick up Paul's 'Oh shit' shift in posture.

Interesting. Seb tilted his head slightly, faintly deferential, but not really. He was a tall fellow, only guy in the room on eye level with Seb. Long face, cold eyes, no Companion in sight. At home with the kids, he wondered, or quite dead? No way for him to politely Google the man and the society pages just then. "Good to see you again." His eyes flicked over to Seb.

"A pleasure. How is business in the diplomatic corps?" Mycroft asked pleasantly enough. He could see Sherlock over the other side of the room staring at them.

"This is Sebastian," Mycroft said as if misinterpreting his glance. "My Companion of over a year now. He is a credit to me of course."

Seb smiled wide, mouth closed before he uttered, "Pleasure to meet you, benefactor Moran." He inclined his head a little, but there was no sense in bowing properly, or doing more than staying at Mycroft's side where he belonged. The man's face twitched faintly, a micro expression of rage gone so fast that Seb wasn't sure if he'd seen it at all. Not something to be discarded, though.

"I'm sure he is. He's kept employed, I assume?"

"He is very skilled," Mycroft said leaving it ambiguous. "And has had the best of training. I insisted of course."

He almost looked pained -- really, it wasn't that bloody bad a conversation -- and Seb shifted, sliding his hands into his pants pockets for a moment. "I'm grateful for it, of course."

Benefactor Moran's jaw clenched then, and he looked at Mycroft. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? After I took you under my wing..."

"I recall that particular… relationship differently," Mycroft said mildly. "You had your chance Augustus. You decided to take the… easier path."

Seb tilted his head a little, squinting at them both as he watched the conversation that was really around, above and anywhere but something he could interact with. What the bloody ever loving fuck? "I don't understand how you consider doing what society expects of me the easier path." And he was looking at Seb again, halfway lifting a hand to touch him.

The fuck. Seb had his hand out of his pocket and raised to stop any motion by Benefactor Moran. "Hey, hello there, look, you touch me, I break your wrist, *sir*."

"I have not given you permission to touch my Companion," Mycroft said in a suddenly sharp tone. "That's very bad form Augustus."

His jaw line had hardened somehow, and he shifted faintly, leaning back a half step. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers, Holmes."

"Of course I will," Mycroft said not a whit ruffled or disturbed. "I would not expect anything else."

Benefactor Moran gave Seb one more look, and turned away, brows pulled down together in anger. Seb waited until their looky loos got slightly bored, and then leaned into Mycroft to murmur, "What was that?"

"A situation that has long been waiting to come to a head," Mycroft seemed smug about it though.

"Great, another fucking enemy," Paul said quietly.

"Oh, hello." Seb turned his head slightly. The smugness was surreal, but not unwelcome for Seb. Just, he was completely behind on what was going on.

He hated not knowing what was going on. "Why lawyers?"

"He believes he has a claim to pursue," Mycroft answered. "He is wrong of course."

Still, the fuck. Seb looked back out on the floor, and then squinted thoughtfully for a moment, watching where Benefactor Moran had ensconced himself with what were, no doubt, allies. "I'm going to take a long shot, and guess that he fucked my mum?"

Paul chuckled. "Told you," he said to Mycroft, who looked at Seb. 

"It is what he suspects, however he did not lay claim to you and instead did everything he could to sabotage your existence."

Seb shrugged his shoulders slightly, looking directly at Benefactor Moran then. "Well, he can sod off. Not like he ever did anything for me. Do you want your ginger ale refreshed?"

"I believe I could use a top up yes please Sebastian," Mycroft said proffering his drink.

Seb knew it was an opportunity, but he took Mycroft's glass, secure in leaving his side with Paul there. People, particularly other companions, would come up to him when he was out of Mycroft's sight, and the refreshment table seemed placed just so to encourage that.

A stunning looking woman who was with someone that Seb vaguely recognised as one of the House of Lords was meandering through the crowds to the drinks table as well, evidently on a similar mission.

She glanced at him. "Well look at you, a Companion and a half."

"Ah, height jokes never get old." He was smiling when he said it, looking over his shoulder at her while he refilled Mycroft's glass, and then carefully got one for himself as well. "Good evening, I'm Sebastian Holmes."

"Irene Adler...I do so like Companions,” Irene said with a curve of a smile. "And yet Mycroft has been hiding you away...so sad for us."

"Well, it's not really my cup of tea," he replied, standing there with his fingers tight on both glasses while he sipped carefully at his own. "And we're quiet sorts."

"Oh you only think you are," Irene said. "You see I am an expert in these matters. You have a dark side Sebastian Holmes. It would be very entertaining to see it come out."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Oh really? Anything else you want to tell me about myself?"

"I could," Irene said with a smile. "But theoretically we are in polite company. Well, partially polite."

She was intriguing at least. He twitched an eyebrow at her, took another sip of his soda. "Still, try me."

"It's my chosen specialty, you see. Your Benefactor refers to it as recreational scolding," Irene said. “He has no patience for that sort of thing I am sure. But it means I can spot the tendencies, the tells in the same way you can do what you are trained to do. You have some interesting desires lurking under that military trained exterior."

"Not sure I'm really following." Recreational scolding? Well, there were a few ways that could go, Seb supposed as he watched her posture. "You'll have to spell it out for me in small letters, I suppose."

She laughed a little. "Let’s just say you would like your sex dangerous...and interesting, but I sincerely doubt it will reach what you desire with your Benefactor.”

He snorted, and took another sip of his soda. "Honestly, is that the best pot shot you can take, ma'am?"

"It's not a potshot," Irene replied airily. "Not even a criticism. If you like that sort of thing, but should you ever experience you'll remember what I said."

What a bizarre conversation, Seb decided as he took another sip. And no way was he going to confirm that, nah, he was pretty well taken care of in the hot and heavy area, but it wasn't up for discussion. "Uh-huh. Sure. Well, it was fascinating talking with you, Ma'am..."

"Mmm, I'm sure we'll meet again Sebastian Holmes," Irene said. "And tell Mycroft, he might want to reconsider who he assigns some of his projects to." She glanced across the room briefly towards a benefactor. "When they pay to be interrogated, it doesn't bode well does it?"

"I'll pass that on." He quirked an eyebrow at her, and started back to Mycroft after giving her a faint wave goodbye.

She had gone out of her way to give him information, and that was interesting in itself. Mycroft was talking with another government official with their Companion standing in polite attendance as well. She was pretty, standard Companion-type of good looks, but there was a keen-ness around her eyes that Seb was starting to get the feeling was selected for at those levels of government.   He passed Mycroft his drink back, and fell quietly in at the man's side, noting that Paul had recessed back into the shadows in a really unsettling way. One day, he'd talk Paul into teaching him how to do that. 

He didn't interrupt when they spoke but smiled politely and when the Benefactor moved away, and his Companion with him, Mycroft murmured. "I saw you with Ms. Adler. You must have caught her eye - she rarely fetches drinks herself."

 "She offered a polite suggestion that you not hire people who enjoy being interrogated recreationally. I assume you have a leak." And possibly a blackmailer, dependent on how pleasant a person she wasn't. Very cutting, very uncomfortably open about discussion sexual habits for someone who wasn't actually a companion. 

"Hmm, interesting. She doesn't pass information unless she thinks it will buy her influence or power," Mycroft said. "Did she hint who?"  
 "She looked over to the fellow she's here with." Seb indicated the pair with a faint tilt of his head, taking a sip of his soda. Well, Mycroft was both influence and power, so that wasn't really reaching hard for her, was it? He was still half wondering just how she managed to jump to *that* particular conclusion about him, personally, in no time flat. Not wondering enough to let his eyes stop travelling the room, scanning, and reading.

"Very interesting," Mycroft seemed to recognise the man. "Sebastian, I would appreciate it if you conveyed to my brother to cast his considerable talents over the man in question, see if he is worth investigating further."

Seb nodded more with his eyes than the rest of himself, and shifted away from Mycroft to forge through the crowd to find Sherlock. He was pretty easy to spot -- tall, sharp, with an aura of smugness that was unavoidable.

He was slouched in a chair looking bored and supremely disdainful of the people he was watching. He glanced over at Seb and rolled his eyes. "Wonderful, my brother's guard dog in training."

"Arf, arf." Seb finished off his drink. "Mycroft wants me to tell you to tell him something other than that the two of you have a fucked up relationship. Do you see that woman over there?"

"The Woman," Sherlock replied. "I am clearly not blind." He seemed amused by his other comments thought. "What about her?"

The Woman? He could hear the bloody capitalization, so clearly the two of them had a history. "The fellow she's with. Mycroft'd like a quick sum up so he'll know if it's worth pursuing."

"Hmm." Sherlock was looking across at them absently. "Mycroft too lazy to do his own basic legwork. Typical."

"I'd take it as a compliment. He values your input." Seb leaned a little, and set his glass aside on a circling waiter's tray.

"And that's your version of smooth talk?" Sherlock asked. "If John is like that, we're in trouble."

"Oh, we're in trouble," Seb confirmed. "I can do actually smooth, but you're brilliant. You don't need to be talked up and around, Sherlock. It'd waste time for both of us."

He actually got a quirked smile for that comment. "Well, I am extremely bored. It is either this or work out how to explode the champagne, so..." He pushed himself up, grabbing a drink for himself, thrusting another at Seb and dragged him along, talking randomly to him. "Have you heard from John recently? He is doing well."

"Proceeding along to being a surgeon. He's done everything but put surgery and his name in a heart with an arrow." Seb slipped one hand into his pocket, and held onto the drink with the other. "Still, pretty cool that the normals have given him the chance to prove how unbelievably smart he is." 

"Unbelievably smart?" Sherlock barked a laugh as they somehow drifted closer to their target. "Please, dull in comparison I'm sure. Everyone is."

"Doctor at 20, almost done with his foundation? Bull Shit, that's brilliant." He was going to defend John in his absence, but it wasn't really a comment that alarmed or concerned him. It fit Sherlock as he knew him.

"No, I'm brilliant, John is intelligent," Sherlock said. "But ambition can make a spark grow. And there would be a great deal of kudos involved in having one of the first Companion surgeons in this country."

"And what would you do with kudos?" If they hadn't been in polite company, he would've answered that hypothetical -- wiped his ass with them, that's what Sherlock would do.

"Use it to annoy Mycroft no doubt," Sherlock replied and he had been glancing, flickering lightning glances at the target person, while conversing with him.

All very important, providing a distraction. "Don't really think he'd care either way."

"You would be surprised. Mycroft is somewhat competitive when he can be bothered to get off his gradually expanding ass," Sherlock said drifting away from the man.

Sherlock wasn't going to get an angry rise out of him, as much as he was trying. "I like his ass." 

"Please, I don't need to waste my time thinking about that," Sherlock said. "Though I'm intrigued at his statement about Augustus.”

Of course he'd heard that. "Which part of it?" He just kept pace with Sherlock while he moved, and it all seem ever very casual.

"Oh not the ridiculous by-play about him being your father. Anyone with half an eye could see that. No, the implication that he had his chance with him,” Sherlock mused.

"I thought you were trying to not think about Mycroft's ass," Seb countered. "I really am trying hard to not think about that."

"Well much as I cordially annoy my brother, he is a considerable step up from that womanizing, patronising idiot. No doubt your brains were from your mother's side." Sherlock said steering them back to Mycroft’s orbit.

"I'm going to mark it down on a calendar that you admitted I have brains," Seb murmured as they got closer to Mycroft. "And write and tell John you're thinking of him."

"Well?" Mycroft asked.

"He is definitely compromised," Sherlock said. "Bruising on the wrists spread over a wide area consistent with comfortable restraints. Evidence of discomfort indicating an intense sexual experience. Constant avoidance of gaze and continual glances to yourself indicating a level of guilt. Tie loose indicated a tendency to tug at it. There's more but it is self-evident."

None of it was damning by itself, but taken holistically it was enough information to pursue further. "How kind of 'the woman' to tell you what she's done."

"That was an opening gambit," Mycroft replied thoughtfully. "An exercise in power."

"Well clearly," Sherlock said. "Although I'd say he was compromised before he associated with her."

"That's probably not something you jump headfirst into." He took a sip of his drink, surreptitiously checking where Paul was, and then scanning the room again.

Mycroft sighed. "Then I will have him investigated legitimately," he said. "Honestly, it is hard to get good help."  "It's an agony, particularly given that you're sleeping with the best of them already." Sherlock waved in Paul's general direction, and pulled a smirk. "Can't you make your next compromised worker more *challenging*? Less boring?"

"I'll make an effort to employ more entertaining staff for you," Mycroft said. "You will be busy soon enough."

"You keep saying that, but I’m unsure if you understand what it means," Sherlock drawled. "Still, pleasant as always, brother." 

"Indeed,” Mycroft said with an amused quirk to his mouth. "Do try not to upset too many people Sherlock."

It was an interesting dynamic between the two of them, that was for sure. Competitive, argumentative, irritating each other but Seb knew Mycroft spent a lot of time ensuring that his younger brother was all right. There were guarded discussions that hinted he hadn't been in the past.

He was still sort of rounding his way around to finding out what 'not all right' meant for Sherlock, because it was easier when someone knew what was going on. When John finally got to go Home to Sherlock, he wasn't going to have an easy or a normal time of it, and he wouldn't have Paul built in to help him. Seb would have to fill in the spots he could, when he had the chances, and hope that John was just generally more emotionally savvy than Seb was personally.  
 Which wouldn't be very hard to achieve, so Seb had very high hopes all around. 

After two more people came up to speak with Mycroft about government matters, Seb was getting the definite feeling that Mycroft was the Belle of the Ball. He listened, didn't interfere, stayed quiet and kept his eyes on the crowd. There was The Woman again, smiling and acknowledging him with her eyes, and there was Benefactor Moran again, lurking in a way that made Sebastian wonder if he was trying to get something to do a DNA test. Sherlock speaking with the slightly grey-haired benefactor he'd seen talking with Mycroft before -- friendly enough fellow, a detective inspector if he was remembering the files correctly. 

It was as close as Seb thought he'd ever come to filling a traditional Companion role, lurking quietly at Mycroft's elbow, ready for something to go wrong. And it never came.  

* * *

  Dr. Jim's departure hadn't been the end of John's surgical career, though some days he wondered how that had happened. The man's recommendations had carried impressive weight in the hospital.

 He was counting down the months of his foundational period, the months until he got to Go Home. The headmistress had started to talk to him, once every couple of weeks, just to have dinner and talk and make sure his out of the box 'internship' was going well for him. It felt, just a little, like expectation management as well.

He was pretty sure she was trying to let him know life wasn't going to be like this in the future. That sooner or later Sherlock would decide he had made a mistake and he would have to pack away his scalpel and turn to doing whatever Companions at home did. He was doing well though, getting more and more surgical experience, taking another opportunity back to the A&E but with more of a focus on being a surgical assistant.

It was something he wasn't going to give up on, whether Sherlock thought he could take it away from him or not. He was too good to just... Stop being a doctor.

She talked about Seb as well, hinted at things that he was probably meant to pick up on. He had Seb’s letters and he knew there were things missing from them but not enough to make him think that Seb was somehow in a living hell or anything.

It just sounded... Different. And Seb sounded like himself. Swore up and down that he loved The Job, and that Mycroft was freakishly smart, and that Sherlock was a brilliant smartass. It didn't sound like a living hell.

So he found himself...well, not disregarding, but filing away the warnings as he drew close to completing his foundation years. The next step should be to decide a specialism, get a registrar position or go the GP route. It was difficult to do that when he wasn't sure what was happening.

He didn't even know where or how to file his paperwork, and he'd had no indication from Sherlock one way or the other. It was something for him to consider while he waited for his weekly treat at the bar to be delivered.

It was apparently on Mick this time, who was celebrating confirming a registrar’s position in pediatrics. His second rotation had been the one when it clicked for him and John had been pleased to see he could work his ass off to get what he wanted. Jas was sucking up in an Olympic medal winning way to the neurosurgeons, relying heavily on Dr Jim's recommendations to carry her into a coveted place.

And John... Waited, and hoped, and wondered when he could pursue his own interest as a registrar. Not yet, but soon.

"So, John heard anything about your next post?" Jas asked.

"He could have his pick," Tom replied. "I'm still not sure whether to go GP or not."

"Yeah? Do you want to see where you're ending up, John?" Mick leaned forward a little, grinning. "I might've found a sealed letter to you from the medical board..."

"You've what?" John blinked. "You bastard, where did you get that?" And how the hell did he get hold of it. "Been charming the admin?"

"I always charm the admin," Mick smiled broadly. He leaned forward, and fished it apparently out of his back pocket, presenting it to John with a flourish. "Where did you apply?"

"I didn't," John said. "Technically my Benefactor should do it for me but he hadn’t said anything." He'd mentioned it often enough but replies from Sherlock were few and far between.

And bizarre when they did arrive, but it had always been that way. "Well, here, open it." He held it out for John.

John did so warily, hoping to god it wasn't a drop out notice. He found himself reading and re-reading the letter, somewhat stunned by the contents. "Military..." he said reading it again. ”Military trauma surgeon. Active service."

"Jesus." Jas exhaled, just a little shaky sounding. "Military trauma. Didn't you say your Benefactor's career?"

"Yeah, he's..." He didn't actually know exactly where Sherlock was based at the moment. "He is on active service."

"What's he do?" Tom leaned to peer at John's letter. Jesus, trauma surgeon. Active military. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd run around like Seb did.

"It's a classified position. I don't have clearance yet," John said. "Shit, I'm going to have to start a fitness regime." How long did he have to get in shape?

Until he went home. 

Tom laughed, and sat back. "Tonight's your last hurrah, then? Hey, maybe you'll run into Dr. Jim."

"Yeah. Holy crap..." John didn't know whether to be scared or excited. "But I'll be a surgeon. A real surgeon."

"With war wounds in your hands." Complicated, complex traumas, though he knew he'd see a lot of stubbed toes and mischief. "Wow."

"And you'll be in Pediatrics and Jas is going to be a neurosurgeon and Tom is going to make a decision at some point in his life," John said. "You could be more than a GP Tom. Seriously. "

"The world needs gp's who aren't there because they settled for it," Tom point out, just a touch sharply.

"Yeah, but you really liked it in cardiology up until you argued with Dr Morton," he said

He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, and the world is full of Dr. Mortons, and I just can't do that without snapping his pompous neck," Tom dismissed, taking a swig of his beer.

"That's no reason not to give up on it," John pointed out.

Tom pulled a face, edged towards displeased. "Yeah, well. We'll see. You remember that when you're doing basic training or whatever they make you do."

"God, don't remind me," he said. "Seb used to try and force me to jog with him. I wish I'd got in the habit."

"I don't know why someone would do that to themselves for fun," Jas pointed out. "I mean, I'm all for exercise, but it's not a hobby."

"Mm. I don't want to get shot, and if running fast stops that," he replied. "I'm all for it. The Centre will probably approve."

Jas was almost peering into her beer. "It's a little... It's strange to us. To me, at least. You're *so* smart, and *so* capable, John, but you think it's perfectly all right to go home and basically marry this guy you've never met and do whatever he tells you to do. If *I* did that, I'd have people shoving pamphlets in my face telling me to get help."

"Yeah, well we get that too," John replied. "But Companions are the left overs of society, polished into something else. Orphans, abandoned children...we're the lucky ones. We know our purpose in life."

Even if it seemed to make everyone else at the table really uncomfortable. "Yeah, it's a bit cultish," Mick admitted, rubbing a hand at the side of his face. "What about your buddy, the one who was all fit and shit? I mean, his purpose in life is to... what? You're a doctor, and you're going to be active duty army, which is brilliant and I know you'll just crush at it."

"Seb? Seb is going to do things that probably no one would believe," John said with a shrug. "We learn skills, and it gets paid for. That's a pretty big deal right there."

"But then you go home and sleep with some bloke you don't know. For the rest of your life." Tom shuddered. "Jesus, if I was stuck forever with some random girl I took home..."

"But we're not random," John shrugged. "We're... nurtured. And..." he exhaled a bit. "Benefactors can choose not to take us. It happens."

Jas groaned, shaking her head a little. "Yeah, that's wrong. That that... the whole system, John. All of it. The fact that you sound completely heartbroken even thinking about it." 

John shrugged. "I'm considered to be not even engaged enough with the Companion lifestyle," he said. "So imagine what other Companions might be like."

"Stepford wives?" Mick smirked.

"Amateurs," John waved off the comment. His dinner arrived finally and he sighed. "Guess I won't have much opportunity to each junk anymore."

"Will you do basic training? You should savor that," Tom smirked.

"If they are letting me loose in the field, then probably. Doctors get rank," he said contemplating that thoughtfully. He wasn't even sure where he might get sent.

He'd have to shake a couple of papers out and read up on all the hot spots, try to work out where Sherlock was. Or would be. "Before you go home, or after?"

"Not sure. I think before might be likely,” John said. "Sherlock probably wouldn't want me to Go Home and then have disappear for basic."

"Hopefully they tell you and don't just.... swoop in and grab you." Mick lifted his eyebrows at John.

"Well I guess I've got to at least the end of this rotation right?” John answered eating his chips with still that slight thrill of the forbidden livening them up.

"And probably right off to Basic. Wow." Tom slouched a little in the booth. "So, good news all around."

"Yeah. I want to keep in touch with you guys if I can," John said. "I want to know how the dream team is getting on," John said. It was going to be strange again. He would be alone again, having to adapt as he had before. He'd been lucky in the high pressure environment of being a junior doctor, and one of the most junior doctors seen. Just like with Seb, he didn’t want to let them go, and with a hint of rebellion he determined Benefactor rules or not, he was going to make that happen.

* * *

The agent across from him slid a small cup of tea towards him, and he reached for it more out of habit than any urge to drink. The room was too brightly lit for his headache just then, and there was a mixture of adrenaline and unspent rage running through his veins. He just.... it didn't matter that he'd been roughed up or that he'd caught a knife at passing distance, because he'd gotten away and he *shouldn't* have. And Will, Will was in fucking hospital. Will was a mess, he'd taken a bullet through his side. 

"I shouldn't even be here. I, we need to follow after to find Paul..."

"Captain Holmes, you need to calm down, your Benefactor is on his way and we need any information that you know," the agent said. “We need to know details of what happened on the Op."

"It went horribly wrong." He leaned back in the chair, watching the agent pick up his pen. "I. Hell. We went into a trap. We should've been able to detain the two or three individuals on sight. They were armed to the teeth."

"An ambush," he said. "Were they aiming to capture or to kill?"

"Capture." He pressed the side of his arm against the shallow wound at his side. "Capture. They were aiming to incapacitate us. They got Paul."

Covering their escape. That's all he could see, was Paul waving them back as they fell back rapidly, and Cee screaming at them to move it as Laura started getting their evac. He could still see it, see Paul go down and wanting to go back but then they hadn't cared so much about keeping them alive. They had one of them.

"But they used lethal force." the Agent was looking at him. "I can get the dressing on that looked at again."

"Fuck off." Seb said it without heat, still cupping onto the cup of tea. "Lethal force is a great way to incapacitate someone."

"My point is that once they had a captive, there capture techniques were less ...cautious," the agent said. "Is it possible they were after the Colonel only?"

"Very likely. He's a high value target. If they managed to get any of the rest of us, it was like Christmas gifts." He finally took a sip of the tea, and just let it sit in his mouth for a moment before it slid down his throat.

The Agent nodded. "I understand there were issue regarding the implementation of this mission?"

"There was an argument over whether to execute it. It seemed too good an opportunity to be true. But it was also too good an opportunity to pass on." Sherlock had been so fucking sure that they'd find what they were looking for.

And he'd been right in a way because springing the trap meant they had found a thread to the elusive mastermind. But Paul had been adamant. It stank of a trap, he didn't want the team to go, and Mycroft had sat there silent and thinking between the two of them arguing. Sherlock arguing brilliant reasoning, and Paul being practical. 

Fuck.

"Even suspicious it was a trap, you were caught out?"

He cocked an eyebrow at the agent across from him. "We were a little outnumbered."

It had been a ridiculous amount of soldiers, a flood of them against their six man team, and the miracle was they had got away at all. 

"Could describe or recognise any of them again?"

He exhaled, and wished he had a pack of cigarettes on him. Settled for holding onto the cup and holding still. "I got one between the eyes on the way out. The rest... I could pick them out of a lineup, but I couldn't give you a solid description to go on."

"Right... we'll get some photos and...”

The man was interrupted by Sherlock bursting into the room. "Out now," he said and his moments were brittle and agitated. "His Benefactor is here. You should not have interviewed him."

Oh, the fuck. Like he really needed to be debriefed with Mycroft there like he was some fucking child. He bit back on the words, and started to stand up, pushing the chair back before he did so. "Probably just wasted your time. Imagine you showing up here."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said pacing. "The Op was fucked up." He glared at the agent until he left. "We were anticipating a trap but not the level of commitment they were willing to bring to bear."

"Paul was right." So they were staying in the room. Seb sat back down, slouched in the chair with his arm pressed against his side. He resumed his cup of tea as well. Mycroft was on his way, then, and that was the real debrief.

Paul was gone. Paul was in captivity, and they had to find him. He knew too much, just from a sheer logical point of view, but Seb couldn't touch on that idea as more than a distant thought. It was a stomach knotting rage, that someone had *Paul*, that he, fuck, he'd *left* him there.

"Yes, he was.” Sherlock said and goddammit if the past tense didn't hit him hard. "My brother... is not acting with his usual clarity."

Seb let his eyes focus on some point slightly past Sherlock's knees as he stood there. He was mostly wearing his uniform, though no to regulations, and it made Seb wonder just how much effort his superiors put into keeping him *in* regulation, or if they even bothered. He licked his bottom lip, and took another sip of the tea. "Don't sound shocked, yeah?"

"You haven't sat through interminable lectures on sentiment being a crutch," Sherlock said. "This...mastermind will pay. I underestimated him and I will not do that again."

"Shall I fetch you dramatic lighting, and you can say that again, but standing in front of the flag?" Seb sat up a little straighter in the chair. "Fuck off, Sherlock. We lost Paul. Just... fuck off for the moment."

The door opened again and this time it was Mycroft entering the room. He gestured silently for Sherlock to leave and it looked like he was going to argue but Mycroft just said "Not now Sherlock," in a voice that cut everything dead.

Brooked no argument, and Seb didn't say anything, didn't move from the chair. He didn't feel like carrying the argument on, and it was easier to track Mycroft with his eyes as he entered the room. "I'm sorry."

He didn't need to acknowledge it -- a lack of denial went far enough. "He is. You have anything else you need to take care of, here?" He and Paul had discussed the security situation often enough, the proverbial if I get hit by a bus plan. 

"Sherlock has demanded to return to the scene and see what he can find. In the absence of being able to get a forensics team there, Sherlock is the best chance of information we have," Mycroft said not acknowledging what he said even if it was clear to him.

Seb's mouth twitched a little as he inhaled, and leaned back against the table. "You love him." It wasn't a bad thing, or a weakness. Seb looked down at the floor, at his boots, Mycroft's highly polished shoes. "We'll go home, regroup. We're going after him, though. You need a temporary head of security."

"I know," Mycroft took a long draw on the cigarette. "I need to think clearly and I am finding it hard. Paul...is more to me than I can say."

"No. Come with me. We need to tell Mark he is going to be my Head of security. And you... may potentially have been killed in this raid. I need to keep that as an option." Mycroft said which meant lying low.

"All right. I'll just..." He gestured vaguely, fishing his battered phone out of his pocket. "He can meet us at the car, and I'll get him up the speed." Mycroft needed to think and needed space. But at the same time, he needed no space at all. Seb glanced down, and fired off a quick text to Mark. Come outside, need to talk. Don't say a word.

He had known Paul a shorter time but this didn't make things any less devastating. It was almost blasphemy to say it but without Paul he wasn't sure if things would have worked at all with Mycroft and he needed to do something to go after him, to try.

Mycroft headed them out to the car, with Sherlock lurking.

"Well?" he asked of his brother.

"You may take the mission," Mycroft replied. "By whatever means."

Seb nodded quietly, and held the door, waiting for Mycroft to slid into the car. He could see Mark coming towards him, looking confused. "Get in. New assignment."

He got in the car. "Rescue mission?" he asked immediately as he slid into place and seemed to notice Mycroft. "Mr. Holmes sir."

Seb slid in to sit beside Mycroft, and shut the door behind him. Mark looked adrift on the facing seat, and fuck, Seb was there. Seb was there and understood how fucked up it seemed. The stab wound at his side ached as he shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. "Congratulations, temporary promotion -- you're now Mr. Holmes' head of security."

"You have got to be kidding me," Mark replied looking stunned.

"This is not joke Captain Holloway," Mycroft said. "Paul himself wrote recommendations for such eventualities. You consistently focus on the details of keeping people alive even in high pressure situations. Being a security protection detail requires that sort of attention, particularly now."

Seb leaned back in his seat, arm pressed against his side. He felt better now that they were driving, safer that they were away from the facility. There was room to plan, room to work out how to get Paul back. He was pretty sure that it was a subgroup of the big threat, but Sherlock would confirm that once he managed the five hour flight to the location. "I'll show you the systems and get you retinal scanned in."

"What about the others... Will was in a bad way, and Cee and Laura are pretty shaken up," Mark asked, looking suddenly a lot older.

"The team will break down at this point," Mycroft said. "Cee and Laura may run some ops together or be seconded to the security team. Seb...potentially is going deep uncover depending on the nature of the findings my intelligence service brings me."

"Will needs to recover." Seb scrubbed at the side of his face, and was still smoking, but he didn't feel bad. Mycroft was as well, slow moving as he told Mark that. "And you need to hold things together here until we can find Paul." And maybe after. He couldn't really think about that possibility just then.

Paul was so goddamn good at things, thinking of him broken or shatter somehow was...just not what he could face.

"So what's the deep undercover?" Mark asked looking at him. He was usually so easy going that it was easy to underestimate him.

He glanced over at Mycroft, and watched for the faint inclination of his head. Yes, he could say, he could suggest. He exhaled. "I believe I officially die as a result of the raid. And I go become a criminal."

"Well it makes sense as he is your Benefactor," Mark said contemplating that.

"You are in error Captain, Sebastian is in fact my Companion," Mycroft informed him.

Seb cocked an eyebrow at Mark, knocking ash off into an ashtray before passing it to Mycroft. "I'm almost fucking proud of myself for keeping that secret for so long."

"Jesus," Mark stared at them. "I'm trained to look at detail. I’d swear on my life you and Paul were lovers."

"They are," Mycroft said. "Paul was my...partner, and Sebastian Companion to us both."

He needed to get Paul home. He needed to get him home while he was still Paul, while there was still something Mycroft might be capable of dealing with. Before anything went wrong. "So. Fuck this up, and I'll come back from beyond the grave for you."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Mark replied. "I won't let you down sir," he said to Mycroft.

"I know Captain," he replied. "I will arrange for a promotion. In the mean time until we know the best possible course of action Seb will be lying low. If you are contacted, then deceive everyone as to his state of health."

"Death by horrible infection," Seb drawled, slouching a little. "Not quite how I wanted to go out. Still. It'll take you a day to get used to the systems. Paul designed them himself." Which was a gentle way to say efficient, but jury-rigged.

"But our priority is going after Paul still..." Mark said and then corrected himself. "No, your priority."

"Your priority is Mycroft's security," Seb agreed. And his was to get Paul home. Once they had a plan, he could make moves to finding him. Fuck. Fuck. He ran a hand over the side of his jaw, and stubbed out his cigarette. "On the bright side, you're also getting out of that shitty apartment you hate."

"God yeah, I have to live in," Mark said.

"We'll go over it more in the morning," Mycroft said. "I need some time in my study to think."

Alone in the quiet. Seb didn't want to give Mycroft that space, but he was going to. It would give him the distance he needed to come to a decision. He nodded, felt the car slowing down. "I'll give Mark the tour, and come back up later." 

"Do not spend long, you are injured." Mycroft instructed and Seb was heartened to see Mark immediately acting with his focus on Mycroft, being the one to get out, check the door, usher him inside even as the two of them slipped in out of sight.

"Won't take too long." He watched Mark, watched Mycroft make his way slowly but doggedly up the stairs. Watched Mark scan the inside of the house, acclimating to it with less anger in his eyes than Seb had. It was very... rich, old monied rich, and he'd gotten over his discomfort with that.

"We'll, there's a free room downstairs. Fuck, you can take mine if you prefer upstairs." Not Paul's, though, he wasn't going to touch that. Mycroft wouldn't, either.

That was going to wait for Paul to come home.

"I'll take the free one," Mark said. "Shit, this goes down as a completely fubar," he said looking around.

"Yeah." Seb looked up to the ceiling, and started towards the first floor living quarters. He couldn't stop, couldn't let himself think or really feel just then. "You might as well get comfortable with the house. Floor plans, wiring diagrams and all are in the basement control center."

"Right." Mark was trying to keep focused. "Are you okay Seb? You're looking a bit ...pale." Which was probably code for artic snow white.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, and met Mark's eyes firmly. "I'm all right. C'mon, let me get you into the system." And then he started to lead the way. He didn't really have the time to stop and think.

Mark didn't chatter, although usually he was an easy talker. But he knew that Mark could literally stay for days motionless, eyes on target, completely focused, not even moving to piss. Paul had tapped him from the start

He walked Mark downstairs, and sat down briefly at Paul's computer, logging in and getting to the retinal scan for himself so he could add Mark. "All right. Come over here, and we'll get you added..."

He was glad Paul had shown him how it worked, insisted on it. It made him wonder what was happening to Paul right now. Torture? Had he been badly hurt in the capture? It drove him crazy as he calmly entered the pass codes to log him into the set up and then got Mark to stare into the interface.

He just couldn't really think about that, about what Paul was going through. They weren't amateurs, so they were going to take their time. They had time. But they didn't have time. He confirmed it, re-scanned, confirmed it again, and then stood up to cede the machine to Mark. "All right. I'll show you how to access the security cameras, the database of layouts."

"Right.” Mark looked around. "It's been a while since I've used this sort of gear."

"You're going to have to get used to it. If I'm right, it's going to be a while before we get Paul back." And there was a possibility that he'd be recovering him in a body bag. That it might already be too late. Seb put his hands back into his pockets, watching Mark look around the room, to the screen. They didn't have time to do a nice comfortable acclimation. He had a feeling he'd be on his way out in slightly over twenty four hours.

"We were set up Seb, Paul was right and it still didn't help us," Mark said working his way through unfamiliar screens.

"We never should have gone. There was an argument. Logically... Sherlock and Mycroft should've been right. It should've been all right." It hadn't been. He watched Mark move around, getting a feel for the system. Yeah, fuck, he'd be fine. He was falling right into it like it was nothing, never-mind that he didn't know it. Mark was the perfect replacement, at least in job function. At least in that job.

"I want you to watch out for him." If he left, if he. Went to find Paul, what would happen then with Mycroft? On his own. He hadn't been on his own for at least a decade that Seb could trace. Standoffish, an empire unto himself in a lot of ways, but not. Actually alone.

"You know I will," Mark said soberly. "Problem is, it was logical, it was exactly the sort of risk we were designed to take. They were out played and I guess that just doesn't happen."

"No, it doesn't." Seb leaned forward, just enough to see what Mark was doing. "What other questions do you have? I know I'm just dropping you in this..."

"Hell if I know. I guess I always thought Paul was training up Will for this sort of thing or you. Well, you until I knew about the Companion thing. You're the best all round we've got," Mark said frankly.

"We'll find out if I am or not," Seb murmured, watching Mark bring up the cameras, the sensors the house was rigged with. He could see Mycroft sitting in his office chair, still and thoughtful, and then Mark moved on to the next camera, and the next, methodical familiarization. "If I don't come back, guess you were wrong."

"You think Cee and Laura have to know you are dead?" Mark asked as he rapidly skimmed through the systems. The set up would be familiar as Paul had taught them how he set things up. "They came back with us, they saw Will being gut shot and you having a dressing slapped on and sent off. They are going to figure something weird."

"They can believe it or not. That's why I said infection. Poison? Shite way to die, but it still happens." He watched, waiting until Mark had at least accessed them all, just in case something went wrong. "When a companion runs away, Benefactors usually save face by claiming said companion died, in a plausible manner. It'd fit Mycroft to follow tradition that way. The people I'll be trying to infiltrate will know who I am."

"True. The op proves that. But isn't that going to compromise your entire infiltration?" Mark queried glancing at him.

He shook his head faintly. No, not really. "That's part of it, isn’t it? Convincing them I'm the run-away I should be."

"Mix it with truth. Maybe Mycroft wouldn't sanction a rescue?" Mark suggested.

"I have a long list of plausible reasons for running away," Seb murmured, not quite looking at Mark. It was all subtle, but very viable for someone who was expecting a companion who'd had the last fucking straw. "This was my original mission."

"He planned this from the start?" Mark looked faintly appalled at that. "Even this? With Paul?"

The edge of his mouth twisted up a little, and he shook his head. "No. No, this wasn't the plan. It. I was originally supposed to get a little more training, and then go infiltrate... the people I suspect Sherlock will confirm have Paul. As a run-away. And Paul would stay here. It didn't, it got complicated. We never discussed it again." Things got comfortable. He settled into life there, the three of them had made things work. 

And now Paul was probably in trouble and injured.

Mark nodded. "Tell me what I need to know to handle Mycroft?" he asked. "How did Paul deal with him?"

He laughed. "Lots of shouting and yelling. There's a fine line between insubordination and not letting him do stupid shit just because it's logical." He was feeling cold and tired after all of the travel, after the fucking botched mission. None of them had just. Stopped yet. "Alan's still going to be around. He'll help."

"I can yell," Mark said and smiled a little. When Mark erupted, which he didn't do were often it was spectacular. "So he's all about the logic. Does he consider his own risk?"

"He's usually so far removed from what's happening that he doesn't consider it, no." Uninvolved, because other people were his hands in that world. Seb rubbed fingers at his forehead. If he was actually going to infiltrate them and dismantle them properly, he could be gone for years. He'd be gone. Whatever he was just then... 

Well, it didn't quite matter if it was going away. If he could find Paul, drop a hint where he was to the right people, the right paths, get him out. He could stay on and keep going it infinitely. It'd be all right. "Okay. We'll we're going to have to sort out means of recognition, contact all that sort of thing," Mark said. "But I guess they have to find some way to slip you in there."

"No, I know what I'm doing. No contact, no code words. You'll know it's me if I contact you." He put his hands back into his pockets. "I'm going to go sack out. Let me show you your room."

"Yeah okay, I'll probably be up most of the night anyway," Mark admitted. "Might have chance to nap."

"Let me know if it works out for you." He headed for the stairs, took them at a casual pace, his side pulling with every step. "Dinner's usually served at 6. Breakfast is usually ready on the side when you get up."

He showed Mark the spare room, and then wearily took himself back upstairs. It hurt now, the pain in his side, enough to get his attention through the ache of losing Paul.  
   
He pushed the door to Mycroft's study open, and slunk inside. Just then, he didn't particularly care if Mycroft was even talking to him; he could pass out on the sofa and just enjoy being somewhere that felt safe and familiar. It was a feeling he was sure he was going to miss.

What he wasn't expecting to see was Mycroft sitting there, staring at a gun in his hands, as if mesmerized by it and the possibilities it contained. He didn't even seem to notice that he had entered the room.

Seb closed the door quietly behind him, pacing over towards the sofa. There wasn't really time to think, to question, to let himself process. He didn't quite sit down, but he did reach a hand out, sliding his hand to tilt it down towards the floor. "Hey."

Mycroft looked faintly surprised to see him there. And then even more surprised to see the gun. "I..." 

Seb could see him swallow convulsively, unable to get another word out. He pulled at the gun, and there wasn't any resistance as he took it from Mycroft, sliding to sit beside him on the sofa in the same motion. It was probably for the best that Mycroft wasn't talking, because what did he say to that? No? What the fuck are you thinking? Are you thinking? "Don't."

Mycroft sat there, his hands limp in his lap as if removing the gun had severed their one purpose. "I can't see a way out," he said in a bare whisper. "If I send you, all the probabilities tell me you..." His voice failed him again.

Seb put the safety on, and tucked it into the back of his pants. "I'll get Paul back. I'll find him, I'll get him back." He leaned into Mycroft, fingers pressed against his back.

"Logic tells me if I do this, I'll lose you both," Mycroft said in dull voice. "I don't know if I can face that. The odds...I know the odds, I know the patterns, I have sat here chasing thoughts around and around and they keep leading me to the same conclusions."

Seb closed his eyes, nudged in close enough to press his face against Mycroft's neck. "What are they?" He couldn't quite argue around something he didn't understand.

“That I am the type of man who sends people he loves to die," he said.

He kept his eyes closed, still slouched into Mycroft. It was awkward, but comfortable at the same time, and he was warmer to the touch than Seb just then. Seb probably needed to shower. Probably. "I think Paul already knew that and didn't care."

Mycroft shook his head. "That doesn't make it right. And you… I am being selfish, and I have built my life around my duty and service to queen and country and now, the moment I am forced to choose, I falter."

It was easier when everything was going well. Seb stretched his hand against Mycroft's back. "I'm going to bring him back. I'm not going to die."

"You cannot promise me that," Mycroft said finally responding to his touch and turning a little towards him. "I am going to waste your life for my own selfish desires. Is that the action of an honorable man?"

"You were going to waste my life for service to a higher cause," Seb murmured. He moved with Mycroft's shifting, effortless closeness. "I'd rather waste it trying to find someone worth saving."

"I suppose my only consolation is that you would do this without my order," Mycroft said softly. "But this does not make me less responsible."

"Then be responsible. Be here when I get Paul *out*. Don't shut down on him." And god help them both if he only managed to come up with a body or less. "Mycroft..."

"I don't want to let you go Sebastian," he murmured, leaning into him. "But I know it is inevitable. For Paul."

He exhaled, almost a quiet laugh as he slid his other arm around Mycroft. "I'd do the same if it were you." Except Paul would've been at his side, and Mycroft... wasn't. Couldn't, wouldn't. Wasn't his skill-set.

"I know." Mycroft sat there in silence just holding him as if the world would come to an end if he let go.

Perhaps it would.

He kept his eyes closed, and when he felt damp against his forehead where he was tucked in against Mycroft, it felt a little world ending.

* * *


End file.
